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6 p.m.

September 5, 2011

The clock has ticked all day, and here I’ve sat, waiting for something to come along and pique my interest.  Upstairs, downstairs, tv on, flies landing and annoying me, the heat outside smothered by clouds.

The door slams, and I try to ignore it.  Imagine walking through it, and just letting it go.  Slam!  That’s exactly what happens when I’m up here.  It’s quiet, or it was.  Others don’t know just what they produce, the noise, the shaking of the house.  And this happens at all hours.  Unware of what they do.

The dogs bark because they do.  Dogs, not mine.  Fighting, snarling, sleeping, pooping, anywhere they want or are trapped.  Imagine being one who lives here.  Trapped.

A fan blows onto my face, to keep me cool.  Sure, I could’ve tuned on the AC, but I didn’t.  The noise helps, masking other noises.  I use it all of the time.

I sit in shorts, no shoes, waiting for someone to show up.  Soon, though I don’t know exactly when.  I was told to wait, and I’d be picked up.

So, I wait.

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