Unpeel your eyes

I was sitting on the couch last night admiring our new black leaning bookshelves against the brown wall when I realized that it was unnaturally quiet and had been for some time. The unsettling quiet was coming from the street below which, though it is a small side street, is pretty much a 24 hour stage for a range of human tragedies in progress.

We call it The Clementina Show.

One of the things we've learned is that no matter how much you might think you want to look out the window to see the images that accompany the soundtrack, you don't. I'm only going to say this once: don't look.

Oh sure, we've got the requisite naked man on his balcony directly across from our place. This dude might not actually own any clothing: he reads nude, barbeques nude, he's clearly got nothing to hide from us. But he's an amateur act compared to the pros at street-level.

Eric made the rookie mistake once while looking out our window of making eye contact with a homeless man on the street below, who then, without breaking eye contact, proceeded to drop his pants and poop on the sidewalk.

Another evening, we heard a commotion on the street below: yelling, car doors slamming, tires screeching. Then a pause. Then a woman weeping. We peeked out the window and there was a woman wearing just a t-shirt and high heels standing next to a large suitcase and just crying. It was horrible. About 20 min later - more commotion and she was gone.

The show goes on. And on. But we're just tuning into the radio portion these days.

This past Monday night was karate night on The Clementina Show. "Hiiiiya! Ya!" we heard again and again from the street. Who was doing this new verbal martial art? I have no idea because I know better than to look out the window.

It was nice to have a bit of quiet last night but somehow it just didn't feel like home. Happily, I woke up this morning to the sound of a man trying to vomit up his lower intenstine, god bless him. It's nice to have things back to normal.