is pumping out of the stereo
to my left as I liberally sip silver spirits on the rocks out of a highball glass. The music it a combination between Duke Ellington
and traffic noise
, the conductor
apparently having worked as a civil engineer
for five years before this taped performance at the Custerdome
. The headlights
of several cars
are shining in my window, making it hard to concentrate
on the nuances of the music
. They appeared a few hours ago—just pulled up and turned on their brights. I’ve had to don a pair of sunglasses
in order to continue drinking my gin
The small chrome box on my desk is droning out the sound of my breathing with carefully timed bursts of white noise and clips from old news briefs. Each clink of the cubes in my glass is countered by an tiny explosion, screaming metal, or breaking glass. The box was issued to me three days ago and already I’m beginning to loath it. Now every heartbeat is matched and masked by the tiniest of industrial sounds. This is why I've begun drinking again.
When I came back last week from the Outthere I found all of my food had been confiscated. The fridge is now filled with metal cans that seem to be indestructible. As of three hours ago I’ve ruined my government approved can opener, several knives, and my best pair of shoes attempting to open them. I had considered using my pistol but I fear that if I do the can may explode. I’ve heard stories...
The cars just pulled off of my lawn and I think its safe to go outside again.