Putting My Feet In The Dirt: On a Typical Tuesday Morning

On a typical Tuesday morning  the local commuter bus that stops in front of the Suttel Apartments is always late.

As it pulls away from the curb,  the stop lights at the intersection that it is headed for start to flash wildly from green to yellow to red and then they shut off.

From inside the bus a man rushes up the aisle to the front,  kicks the door open, runs out to the street looks up and says, ” I’m dead, I’m dead. Somebody wake me up I’m dead. ”

On a typical Tuesday morning  the woman in H201 on the third floor of the Suttel decides that today is the day and she goes out to her balcony, swings her leg over the railing and pushes her self off to the street below.

On a typical Tuesday morning a little blue car with it’s bumper held in place by duct tape tries to out run a Fire Engine with a screaming siren and fails. It jumps the curb and hits a green  and white trash can sending  bags of fast food wrappers, beer bottles, and coffee cups into the street and across the sidewalk.

Among the half eaten burgers and bags of chips  that are littering the street,  perched against the curb,  there is a severed human hand in a freezer bag with last years date written in blue sharpie across the front.

It stands on it’s stump for a few seconds before it slowly falls palm side down.

Above the street at the Suttel, a woman named Betty watches the excitement on the street below from her kitchen window and when she’s done she steps back closes the curtains and takes her seat at her kitchen table and pours herself some tea.

She adds a little sugar and as she stirs her warm- no longer hot tea, she decides that today is probably not a good day to clean out the rest of her freezer.

That’s a typical Tuesday at the Suttel Apartments where on Tuesdays  time hits the ground in front of it like a lightning bolt.

In most cases when lightning hits the ground it leaves nothing behind but a little scorched earth. However, anything that was there before is gone now and all that’s left is a mark, that with time will fade away.

In time maybe that’s what will happen at the Suttel, maybe one day that  Typical Tuesday will get dimmer and dimmer until it disappears all together from memories, calanders and clocks.

Unless of course that bolt of time hits on Saturday five years ago or on Friday  six years from now.

It might sound confusing, but in this part of the Universe that failed on the day it was created-

it’s typical.