My neighbour R. was considered unusual in our suburb because of his collection of wide things. He kept them all in a climate controlled garage, which ran down one side of his house and out onto the green belt behind. Most of us didn't mind the incursion into our park; R. was quiet, and what's more, gave back to the community. He took tours around his garage on Mondays and Thursdays, but only between 10 and 3, when most of us were out anyway, and he donated a portion of his proceeds to the local school. R. was, all in all, an asset to our small neighbourhood.
Which is why it was a shock one morning to hear him screaming, at the top of his lungs. Most of us, me included, shot out of our beds, where we had been enjoying a Sunday lie-in. R. was out in his yard, running around, literally tearing out his hair. His eyes pleaded with us for some unknown solution. Then we saw it. All his wide things, taken out of his garage, and turned on their sides.
Long things, soaring up into the sky.
No comments:
Post a Comment