2003.11.05
Greetings.
This morning began with Emil banging on my window from the fire escape.
My name is Charles Percival Walters IV. My friends call me Satchel. This is the record of my life. The strange misadventures of those around me… those are the things beyond my control. I’m writing this journal as a testament of the insanity I suffer at the hands of those around me.
This morning began with Emil banging on my window from the fire escape. I’m not sure how he managed to get out there this time, since I nailed his window shut. It’s impossible to sleep with him staring down at me with his glazed eyes, as he smacks his forehead against the window calling “Satchel…” over and over in his raspy voice. Or so I imagine… if he could make words at all.
Stupid Emil. I guess I forgot to feed him last night. It’s not enough that he has his own room. He’ll eat when I eat, the stupid bastard. Now he’s out again, and I won’t have any peace till I get him locked back up. If he starts howling again, Mrs Hanson is going to start her whining as well. As if it weren’t bad enough that her children started that horrible pop group. They always make Emil gassy when they start singing. He’s probably wishing they’d stroke his mangy hair and make him a member of the group.
Last night’s wanderings proved fruitful. West M. slept as I kept watch. I saw Mrs. Post taking out the trash. I saw Larry from the deli meeting someone in a bar that I did not know. I fell asleep on the bench in front of Starbucks but woke up when J. showed up to open up the video store across the street. That might prove useful. I like J. I like the look of her. There is a certain vulnerability in the way she moves that makes me hungry. Like the wolf. All joking aside, she strikes me as “easy meat”…fresh for the taking. LOL! Smell like I sound, lost and I’m found…
I wonder what she’d think of me if she met me. I wonder about that perhaps a little too much, I think. Maybe I could tell her if only Emil was gone. The way she stroked him that day when he escaped (yet again) last week! Too bad she’s allergic to the pesticide he bathes in. And too bad for Emil that I will ensure that he continues to bathe in it. I want her to stroke me like that, not him.
Top Ramen. I will feed Emil nothing but Top Ramen from now on. Filthy prig. He deserves nothing better. Plus his health can’t hold out forever… though it certainly has so far.
I wonder if I should go and rent a video from J. Of course, I can think of all sorts of witty things to say at the checkout counter now (or after); but I fear that when it comes down to brass tacks I will be sweating and fumbling for change as I struggle to say, “Thanks,” for my VHS copy of Diabolique. But should I even rent a Polanski picture? Or would that send the wrong message? And then there’s the whole Sharon Tate issue.
The doorbell rings. More later.
(later)
Holy Infitada! It was the police, looking for witnesses. There was a break-in at the Jihad-a-lot® deli just around the corner from the Starbucks! Right under my nose… this makes me mad and I want to kick something. Unfortunately there is only Emil, who has no feeling in his body at all. Leprosy? I must investigate. Later, though. At least he is back in the house. I will corner him and shove him bodily in his room later. Right now I need a drink and some Top Ramen. I was saving it for Emil, but I think I will feed him a beignet instead. The police wanted to know if I’d seen anything, but I told them I hadn’t. Not entirely true, as I DID in fact see Jamal sell some weed to one of the neighborhood kids along with a cherry-banana slushee. But I like Jamal, and I wouldn’t want to see him get arrested for dealing pot. Especially when he has the balls to put up those pro-Osama posters over the Nacho stand. I should go out and buy some more deadbolts for my door, though, in case those hooligans are still in the neighborhood. Then I’ll go back to the roof to watch for them and the Jehovah’s Witnesses… I’ve seen Watchtowers in some of the garbage cans a couple streets over from here.
I went and rented Diabolique from the video store, but not when J. was there. I was too shy and sweating bullets so I waited until Tanisha came in for the afternoon shift. I have decided to return the video when J. is working this weekend, though. That means late fees -dammit!- but I can tell her that friends wanted to see it if she gives me any funny looks about having rented it… But then she might think I have a girlfriend. Christ, this is so difficult! Maybe I should think of some names for the friends just so she won’t make the mistake of thinking I’m dating someone. Hmmm. Now I’m wondering what I should wear when I bring the tape back. Certainly NOT my Manson family t-shirt. Then again, maybe J. is into Manson. Maybe even as much as I am. She probably goes for those “dangerous” guys.
I must go to work. I will write more when I have time. Where is Emil?
Categorized: writing
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2 Responses to “Greetings.”
- douglas.nerad » Charles Percival Walters IV. says (September 29th, 2006 at 21:20:15 )
[...] The first chapter, completed tonight, follows. [...]
- douglas.nerad » Satchel Chapter Two says (September 30th, 2006 at 11:27:22 )
[...] At long last, chapter to in the story of one young gentleman named Charles Percival Walters IV, better known as Satchel. The first chapter can be found here. Meanwhile, (try to) enjoy the new material! [...]
