Written In Reverse

Stream of Consciousness

He lived alone. Working as the night time doorman in an inconsequential building on the lower east side occupied the majority of his time. It was a steady job and he was not one to complain. There were numerous benefits working the night shift, he would tell himself, and anybody who bothered asking. And in part, this was true. He enjoyed avoiding the typical rush hour scene, and he enjoyed feeling alone in the big city. The five-and-a-half block walk from the train station to his one-bedroom apartment was one of the more peaceful experiences he could remember in his life. And it was one that he was granted five times a week. He was welcomed home each day by the motion activated outdoor light of his neighbor's place, and he genuinely felt welcomed each day.

Some little things did bother him about his unconventional schedule. If he chose to sleep in, he did not like getting his mail in the evening. It was the principal of the thing that bothered him most. All his life he had habitually checked his mailbox upon returning home from work, while it was still daylight. Now, if he passed his mailbox on his way out he would have to think all night about what might have been waiting for him, and what he might have missed. Even with the steady decline in postal service, he remained a committed follower. Aside from the stereotypical bill, he received many subscriptions to magazines and even maintained a correspondence with his mother via post. All this could be avoided, however, simply by checking the mail prior to leaving for the evening, but he was an efficient person by nature, and it was difficult for him to make a trip down the three flights of stairs simply to check the mail, and perhaps return upstairs empty-handed.

Life went on for him for some time. It was easy to be content, or at the very least to convince himself that he was content. He required no human contact other than his everyday interactions with Nick as he took over the post, and then with Dwayne, as he was relieved. He kept in touch with the news each morning and night whether at home or at work, and was never too far behind in the family gossip as his mother wrote at the least, once a week. On occasion he would wonder whether or not it would be worth changing the direction of his life. But there was a greater fear of making things worse that restricted him from thinking any further. And when he thought that perhaps this was some psychological issue to be dealt with, he again shrank away from the idea for fear of the chance that he may end up in a worse way than he was. So things remained. He never missed a day of work, and he renewed his magazine subscriptions on time.

Post Script: Track recommendation: Efterklang - "Modern Drift". Thanks to the ever-present and ever-gracious Daniel T. Hall for his lead to this treat.

Post Post Script: I have decided that I hate how this blog has started. And I blame myself. But I am determined to right the ship (no idea how difficult it was to restrain myself from "write the ship", evidently, too difficult). So, even if I am the only one reading this, I will attempt to please me more in the future. Somehow.