426 Dewelly St.
Strings. Soft and Multifilament Polyester strings, or tennis racket strings, cut away from their rackets hung about 12-15 colored glass rolled into thin rolls each one with different size with holes in each one. Their sparkly, loud and godawful and because of that there is only two things you look at while waiting for the bus on Dewelly St., your phone or the 39 wind charmers Mrs. Janel has hanging on her porch, but mostly your phone. The sound of cars, music and weird old Mr. Kal honking his horn could be heard, but on this hot-ass summer day I just wanted to stay home.
I don’t even get why people like this month like, this June had been ok I mean it’s like every month, but this month it was to ok, you see June is like the Thursday of the year nothing really goes on and you have to go to appointments, no field trip days, no school projects presentations, birthday parties and other weird stuff never really get anything done so you wait for Friday, or July. So when Thursday is going ok you know something is going to happen, there are no happy Thursdays, and so today some god dude said we’re going to make June extra windy and the bus is going to break down so I had to endure a 39 wind chime chorus for 15 minutes, each one made the most ear crunching noise. Like a broken church organ that someone wouldn’t stop playing.
But orange glass? Really? Who made that shit? I don’t know. I don’t care I just hate orange glass.
Orange, fuck orange. It’s a bitch ass color.
15 minutes.
20 minutes.
25 minutes.
Is 11 years of friendship worth this wait for the bus, or for the drunk, organ, glass choir glass shards 20 feet away from me?
30 minutes.
40 minutes.
43 minutes, fuck it i’m walking.
4 miles on a thin sidewalk each foot full of cracks and weeds. To my sides a fence about 13 ft tall each iron poll twisted together and some cut to get on street. Flowers and pictures of people, crosses hung on the twisted polls,“Andrea “CJ” Gonzalez, 1994-2018", “Jane Lunpo”, “Chris “Smoky” Gangal.“, “Bambi “Baby B” Hazel 2010-2018.“, and then at the end a face I know my cousin Jakey. Car crash, drunk dude just ran into them. Each one have eyes of life and laughter, except Jakey he was a crackhead, he hated everything and everyone, even himself. Now their on crosses with $10 Flowers and candles below them, some have stuffed animals, there is so many of them, I speed walk out of my death cell.
Damn that.
Damn that crack head.
Damn this whole highway, and damn my 11 year old friendship that makes me rock threw this fucking cell.
And especially fuck 426 Dewelly st.
