WHACKING AWAY AT THE DAILY NEWS
WHACKING AWAY AT THE DAILY NEWS
Whack!
.
My brow wrinkles at this sudden disembodied noise.
.
Whack!
.
There it goes again. Now my wrinkled brow is joined by grimaced jaw. What is the source of that annoying sound?
.
Whack!
.
That does it. I stop watching for the forever traffic light to give me permission to proceed. I scour the concrete asphalted landscape of Downtown to see what’s what.
.
Whack!
.
There it is. It’s emanating from a metal newspaper vending machine on the corner.
.
Whack!
.
A woman of indeterminate age is whacking her cigarette pack on the metal surface while bending double to read the visible front page through clear hard plastic.
.
Whack!
.
As she pounds the pack she artfully twirls it around so that one whack is top, the next bottom, just to make sure the cigarettes within compress themselves evenly.
.
Whack!
.
She continues to read, continues to bow, oblivious to all else, all others.
.
Whack!
.
Does she even know why she performs this ritual, or is it just something she’s always seen others do?
.
Whack!
.
Those are going to be some densely packed smokes, don’t you think?
.
Whack!
.
When I drive away she’s still reading the paper word for word, still whacking away, still doubled over.
.
Just another mysteriously familiar activity of daily living Downtown in the naked city.
.
This may not be the wackiest thing I’ll experience today, but for the moment it is definitely the whackiest
.
Whack!
.
My brow wrinkles at this sudden disembodied noise.
.
Whack!
.
There it goes again. Now my wrinkled brow is joined by grimaced jaw. What is the source of that annoying sound?
.
Whack!
.
That does it. I stop watching for the forever traffic light to give me permission to proceed. I scour the concrete asphalted landscape of Downtown to see what’s what.
.
Whack!
.
There it is. It’s emanating from a metal newspaper vending machine on the corner.
.
Whack!
.
A woman of indeterminate age is whacking her cigarette pack on the metal surface while bending double to read the visible front page through clear hard plastic.
.
Whack!
.
As she pounds the pack she artfully twirls it around so that one whack is top, the next bottom, just to make sure the cigarettes within compress themselves evenly.
.
Whack!
.
She continues to read, continues to bow, oblivious to all else, all others.
.
Whack!
.
Does she even know why she performs this ritual, or is it just something she’s always seen others do?
.
Whack!
.
Those are going to be some densely packed smokes, don’t you think?
.
Whack!
.
When I drive away she’s still reading the paper word for word, still whacking away, still doubled over.
.
Just another mysteriously familiar activity of daily living Downtown in the naked city.
.
This may not be the wackiest thing I’ll experience today, but for the moment it is definitely the whackiest
.
© Jim Reed 2017 A.D.
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
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