Lead Paint

Several quiet men turned spinning wheels in the corner. Above, Bartleby’s pet scurried into a recess on the ceiling. Bartleby himself stood staring at the south wall, the one with the spots. In a few minutes, he would have to turn and face the east wall. He couldn’t remember ever seeing the north wall, and frankly, he wasn’t sure he even had one anymore. The wildlife assured him that he did whenever he asked, but as a native Spanish speaker, many of the phrases became confused in translation.

Next door, Suzanne was having another child. It was already lunchtime, with the sunlight fading fast. If she didn’t hurry with this one, there was no telling what the women in the other places might say about her.

In a corner somewhere, a small girl named Rose carefully screamed dirges and angry songs to the Man who would Listen. She knew what he liked. He was paying her enough that she had better know. She had never seen the man, but the speaker in the wall was enough. She knew he was there. She knew he would listen.

Later on in the day, a brick wall fell down in the southern part of town. By sundown, a monument had been erected in its memory. The monument, of course, was another brick wall, only this one had a plaque and a fence around it. Children weren’t allowed to touch this one.

Somewhere a while away, a rodent had nested in Mr. Fenton’s drain-pipe and gotten stuck. He wouldn’t be able to shower while it was this way, but he could do the laundry alright, which was all that really counted. He could only hope that someday a cat might get stuck too, and they could fight it out.

There was a blue house on the east corner of Baker Street with the paint coming off in flakes. On windy days, the children liked to play outside in the empty lot next door, where the flakes fell in little clattering piles. The man in charge of the lot hated them- the flakes, and the children- but did not have the authority to tell either of them to leave.

Tonight was the potlach supper, organized by Mrs. Finch and held at the union hall downtown. The union hall had fallen in the previous summer, but they liked to imagine. One man had died in the collapse, a younger man. A monument was erected out on the street. It was a new man, only this one had a plaque and a fence around it. Children weren’t allowed to touch this one either.

The city planners had seen to it personally that a street be paved with only broken glass, to teach some humility to the younger generation. The children played ball and ran amuck on the street all the same, but they were slightly unhappier than they would have been otherwise, and the general consensus was that the lesson had been learned well enough.

There was a building burning in the downtown, but no one was quite sure what to do. Several people brought bouquets, so as to encourage an encore, although it hadn’t worked, in the strictest sense. Several others were protesting the fire, calling it “rude” or “disorderly”, although the opinion of the crowd was actually mixed as to whether or not this was the truth. In the end, everyone dispersed, and the fire was alone at last.

There was a hardware store as well, only it hadn’t received any business for several months after the scandal. The owner of the store was a Mr. Grimpley, a shady character in his own right, but after he had been found out for trying to lead lead paint? No one would enter the store on foot again.

Every Thursday, the town’s early warning detection system was tested. A series of alarms would sound, and any early warnings would be forced out onto the street and beaten with a cane until the alarms stopped and the warnings were allowed to return to their place in the peripheral of society.

A lady named Maryanne collected biscuit tins for her friends and family. They always threw them directly into the garbage, but they had to pretend to be grateful anyway. They had no idea where she found the tins anymore, and neither did she. Occasionally, she would find herself standing exactly where she had been, except for the inexplicable addition of the tin. She had collected quite a stack, and was running out of places to put them. She had never actually seen biscuits sold in tins, but supposed they must be somewhere for her to have found so very many.

A bridge in the south of town was quite unpopular. It was ill-tempered, perhaps as a consequence, or perhaps as a cause. Even the trains hated passing underneath for fear that the bridge would simply give up and topple in on them. There was a motion being carried through the city council to paint the bridge a light-orange in hopes of improving its overall mood, but without a reliable source of hardware, the motion would probably never be passed.

Anyone who had been in a relationship in town had been to the boardwalk at least once. It was lit a shade of coral, accidentally, of course, but it was likely to stick around now. The boardwalk was meant to be built near the water, but due to an error of some form, had been constructed on an overpass instead. It was considered romantic anyway, simply by sheer mental association.

For several years running, there had been some kind of quarrel going on in the uptown between a group of children and a group of dogs. No one stepped in to stop the dispute out of fear of being roped in to one side or another. No one could be certain when or how the disagreement had arisen, but there was no shortage of hostility nonetheless.

There were whispers a few days before about a woman in the tallest tower who could talk to the stars. There was a promise made that she would come down from the tower and tell the people what she had heard. As it turned out, the whole thing was a publicity stunt for a soup company. No one was surprised.

Many men made a living fishing in the oyster beds in the bay. No one had bothered to ask the oysters about their feelings, and there was a rather disappointing effort on the part of the ethics committee in an attempt to rectify this mistake. There was a noisy exodus, and now many men were out of a job.

Living in the alley was a chore for many residents. In order to earn their rent, there was a quota to fill, imposed by the men in the buildings. The potholes needed to be filled, they said, before the end of the month. This was every month. They did not provide them with any implements with which to do the job, though, and the potholes stayed empty.

Once a month, there was a group held at the church, during which time the townsfolk would get together and loudly express various opinions in a room. Nothing ever got done, and no one ever cared. Sometimes an animal would show up and express a concern, but no one paid any attention to them anymore.

The mayor had thrown a party once for his pet horse. He ordered a ridiculous amount of balloons for the festivities. Unfortunately, the truck carrying the load had crashed, releasing them into the environment. They choked the sky for days. When they finally popped and rained down on the city, several children drowned in the balloon slurry. The mayor’s horse never issued an apology. It hurt his standings in the polls.