stumbling back into practice...

a little story that found its way out of my mind and onto the screen tonight. all thoughts/comments welcome.



Kevin stepped out into the street and let out a sigh as the icy cold slush seeped in through his sock and soaked his left foot. He’d misjudged the depth of the puddle by quite the margin, apparently, but grimaced and continued to cross the street. Soft, crisp crunches echoed his footsteps as he continued across to the curb; the snow was still coming down, but now, in the late hours of this stormy Wednesday in February, there was nothing going on to drown out the sound. In any other circumstance, he might have found the quiet disconcerting, but after working a double shift, he was very glad for the silence that settled on him as gently as the flakes.

The sidewalk was cleared almost to perfection just in front of his apartment as he neared, a sign that Clarence had been hard at work today. Kevin paused for a second to muse over this thought, and couldn’t help but laugh to himself. The old man’s name probably wasn’t Clarence, but he certainly looked like one. Whether he was senile or just crotchety, the neighbor never spoke to Kevin and he likewise returned the respect of privacy. But regardless of animosity, Clarence would sweep the stoop of his apartment and the adjacent walkways. Dirt, trash from the teenagers who regularly left their litter and cigarette butts as some sort of misguided tribute to the neighborhood, or snow, such as today- he would sweep it into the crevice between curb and street without saying a word to anyone, as if it was his sole duty left in life. A life that probably was past his expiration date, but that didn’t stop the silent sweeper , now did it?

The keys in his hand jingled sharply in this silence, and the door opened without its usual stubbornness. Up the creaky steps and another turn of another key, Kevin set his over-packed messenger bag down on the couch, running a hand over Danielle’s back. The cat made no attempt to reject the brush, nor did she respond much at all; merely the bored stare she often had in her eyes when she was tired. She remained rooted to her spot just left of center atop the back of the couch, looking in the direction Kevin had just headed.

He flicked on the light in the kitchen as he entered, and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent sunburst that hit him. It didn’t slow him down, but it was a reminding irritant of how much he wanted to just close his eyes and let sleep take him for a stint. The kitchen counter was cold to the touch, and the emptiness of it almost seemed to beg for the sandwich fixings to fill that void.

As he prepared his meal, he thought about what might be worth writing about today. Nothing had particularly excited him during the long shift, and normally even the asshole patrons of the lower East Side diner he worked at would provide some sort of fodder for his evening mental-exercise bout. The clinking of ice in a glass drew Danielle into the kitchen, her tail betraying her curiosity as she watched him pour the whiskey into it. Three fingers’ worth seemed plenty for a day like today, and Kevin took his traditional spot on the couch, sinking comfortably into the indentations in the black leather that were so familiar. With a few quick clicks of the mouse, soft jazz began to pour from his laptop. He stared at the blank screen, fingers poised over the keyboard, waiting for the words to find their way through his nerves and channel themselves out through his hands.

A quick snatch of a phrase came to him, and as quickly as the idea formed, keystrokes were being entered as smoothly as a concert pianist, and Kevin set about letting his day exit through his own sonata.