And the devil is outside, flying around like a bat while I'm trying to clear out all the old 70's movies from my DVR. This devil isn't really the devil, it's like the devil in a Tom Waite's song, he plays an instrument (nothing conventional; broomstick bass, spoons, wooden knee blocks). He's more like a mall Santa Claus: an aura of bad ju ju. Like that motion detector light in Brick.
The air conditioner is blowing on me even though it's nice outside. Too many bugs outside, too many smells of mowed grass and salt water, fireworks off in the distance. Fun I used to have. Riding bikes in New Milford. Hanging out in friend's basements on Saturday Night watching Headbanger' Ball. Stealing beer and trying cigarettes. Everything new and fun.
The scope has narrowed and there isn't any fun left. These days I just long for some quiet. A book. Some mad scribble/typing. A few minutes with my girl quietly contemplating quiet futures.
But the devil is outside. He's always outside. Around the corner. Playing that racket.
And it's never quiet.
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