far too much writing, far too many photos

Not long after that recent entry about my neighbors, the Godzillas, I ran into them downstairs in the lobby. In passing, exchanging hello’s, nothing more. The first time I’d had a face-to-face encounter with her in months, the first time ever with him. Two older folks, small in stature, neatly dressed, walking in arm. Her with a cane, something I don’t ever remember seeing before. And in thinking about it, the cane, her difficulty walking explains part of what I experience with her stomping around their flat: every other step is much heavier, shakes the floor more. She’s over there right now, clumping limpingly around their living space, every second step more teeth-grindingly percussive than the other.

On one hand, knowing that she has some sort of physical difficulty or disability makes it easier to put the thumping in a sympathetic context. And makes it harder to talk about the stomping around in careless, joking fashion. Which gives me an opportunity to get a bit of perspective (they are, after all, gone a substantial percentage of the time; the noise could be far nastier, far more toxic and/or hair-raising; they seem like good people; blah-de blah-de), makes it easier to listen to the angel on my shoulder and not feel so inclined to spew bad-mouthing one-liners at the neighbors’ expense.

Plus, you know, it’s not their fault that the walls/floors/ceilings in this building are so freakin’ porous, acoustically.

(On the other hands, if she has difficulty walking, why in hell is she always stomping around their flat at high velocity?)

Grumble, grumble.

Woke up this morning from strange dreams, the kind I didn’t mind losing when they faded quickly away after I got up to dump the ballast. A song got going soon after up there in my teeny brain, cranking away on a repeating loop. A tune I actually really liked, for a change. Went to the gym, their in-house soundtrack of technopop washed away that song, I immediately forgot what tune it was, same way I’ve forgotten the early-morning dreams. Sometimes I wonder about me and what passes for my gray matter.

Anyway. On to the day.


Detail, abandoned storefront — Madrid:

EspaƱa, te amo

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