9AM
I'm dying laughing here. A half hour ago I hear a commotion in the
parking lot. Laughing and shouting and whatnot.
I open my door and see that the curious dog from yesterday has managed to get inside the chain link fence and is running around the parking lot dragging a dead chicken by the neck. A dead, white, mud—covered chicken. His pale white lady owner is wringing her hands and babbling about germs and poison and plagues. She is wearing a long pink flannel nightgown and has her hair up in rollers. It is, give or take, 75 degrees F. The spouse, a short fat Latino, I'm guessing Mexican, stands macho style. Swaybacked, belly proudly poked out , hands on hips, sombrero tilted back, surveying the scene. He is grinning with pride and glancing shyly around at the other spectators, as if his little fluffy dog had captured some big game animal. He wears a baggy red bikini with requisite overflowing belly.
The dog continues to elude capture, frantically shaking the chicken as if to break its neck then running away in the nick of time.
Last night was the night of the teenagers, I guess, because there are at least twenty of them running in and out of the pool gate. The gate slams shut with an annoying clang behind each one.
The teenage boys are topless too and a couple of non-resident dogs are wandering through the crowd. It begins to remind me of Costa Rica. People outside.
Occasionally someone takes a halfhearted swipe at the dog as he flies by. No one seems to want to grab the chicken.
I gotta go walk now.
Some photos of the site follow:
I especially like the way the fence is constructed without digging post holes. I wish I had know about it back in the day.
I open my door and see that the curious dog from yesterday has managed to get inside the chain link fence and is running around the parking lot dragging a dead chicken by the neck. A dead, white, mud—covered chicken. His pale white lady owner is wringing her hands and babbling about germs and poison and plagues. She is wearing a long pink flannel nightgown and has her hair up in rollers. It is, give or take, 75 degrees F. The spouse, a short fat Latino, I'm guessing Mexican, stands macho style. Swaybacked, belly proudly poked out , hands on hips, sombrero tilted back, surveying the scene. He is grinning with pride and glancing shyly around at the other spectators, as if his little fluffy dog had captured some big game animal. He wears a baggy red bikini with requisite overflowing belly.
The dog continues to elude capture, frantically shaking the chicken as if to break its neck then running away in the nick of time.
Last night was the night of the teenagers, I guess, because there are at least twenty of them running in and out of the pool gate. The gate slams shut with an annoying clang behind each one.
The teenage boys are topless too and a couple of non-resident dogs are wandering through the crowd. It begins to remind me of Costa Rica. People outside.
Occasionally someone takes a halfhearted swipe at the dog as he flies by. No one seems to want to grab the chicken.
I gotta go walk now.
Some photos of the site follow:
I especially like the way the fence is constructed without digging post holes. I wish I had know about it back in the day.
1 comment:
...grinning with pride and glancing shyly around...
Nicely contrapuntally descriptive.
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