The other day I attended a block party hosted by my neighbors, presumably to welcome me to the block. More reasonably, to consume large amounts of alcohol in a socially acceptable manner. I don't know why I attended, I have nothing in common with any of these people but I suppose I was the excuse for the get-together so I was obligated. Besides, I do enjoy good barbecue. Standing at the edge of my driveway while my neighbors mingled effortlessly amongst years of friendships, I took notice of several cracks in the asphalt, all of which guided rows of bright red ants through the crevices and over small bits of gravel. It was just after I observed the oil spot that resembled Edgar Allan Poe that the first neighbor noticed how out of place I really was. A little girl, seven or eight, ran up to me, stomping right on Poe's sullen expression, one that probably resembled my own, and shouted, "Who are you??" I smiled and half-whispered, "I'm the guest of honor." She locked her hands behind her back and leaned forward, smiling, then ran off and nearly tackled her mother's leg, who without looking down, continued her conversation.
memories.
ReplyDeleteredsi.