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Library: The Back Window
Books
Author: Dementia
Date:Dec 13 1999
I;'Everybody hates Monday, even when its Tuesday people should be hating.
Tuesday is a hollow day nothing. At least Monday is the first day of the week,
at least it has something. It was a Tuesday that James woke up to. Another
Tuesday in another city that looks like every other city except for maybe
London his aunt always said London was different. But not the city he woke up
to. A stranger would look out the back window and see a maze of alleys and
corridors topped with ash-gray-mashed-potato clouds, but all James could see
was the same streets he had seen for every single day of his life.;'He got up
with the same effort that it takes him to get up everyday. He never once
wanted to get up, but he had to. One must work, you know. His bed is a dull,
plain thing that would go undetected in a quick glance. In fact, everything in
James' flat would go undetected. The mattress was a dull gray that gave a
light smell of dried drool and chips. The springs made a small scream with
every movement, almost with the same effort that James takes to get up. He
never bothered to make his bed right when he got up; it was an odd habit of
his to wait til just before he went to bed to make it.;'After getting up out
of bed, he made his way to the back window. The glass was dirty and covered in
spots that made the plane of glass look like a map for some foreign planet.
Peering through the film and dirt, James spied upon the beginning of a
Tuesday, with the ants crawling about the maze of tunnels, all toiling away or
getting ready to toil. All crawling around as if in some mindless daze. He
could stare at the slow moving show for hours, but it was time to get ready
for work. Mustn't be late.;'The spray of cold water always helped wake him up.
He hated cold water, especially after a shower, because then the air seems so
cold and it takes so long to get used to it. The water rolled its way down
from the shower head to his body, covering him in a film, making him glossy.
He hated cold water. He steeped to the side of the stall, so that the missiles
of water would leave him alone, so that he could grab at the shampoo bottle.
He squeezed a good sized dollop that reeked of artificial apples and homegrown
chemicals. ;'After rinsing it out of his hair, he turned the dial and cut the
cold water sho
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