Not Turnt

I’d read a book about my life because if I wouldn’t then I’d choose to live in a different way and if I couldn’t choose then the reasons stopping that change would probably be interesting enough to read about. I also think a lot of the work is for the reader to do. I’m into Carver’s short stories, even the one’s where nothing really happens, and especially the one’s where nothing really happens, because what matters is that it was important enough for him to write it down. It is about what is observed and what connections are made by the author that the reader can then try to make themselves. My story might be boring but in providing the right details the author could capture those small aspects of reality, in all it’s genuine boredom, and find what makes it pretty.

I turned off of Rue St Antoine onto Rue Castex and then stopped. A little ‘oh’ escaped my mouth and my momentum carried me up onto my toes. In front of me was the homeless man who lives on my street. He sat with his back resting on the stone wall of the church. I smelt urine. Across the street his sleeping bag poked out from beneath several sheets of cardboard. His legs were pulled towards his chest, his knees up supporting his elbows while his hands hung limply open. He was watching two little birds that hopped around about three feet in front of him. He didn’t move or react to my presence. This non-gesture was enough of a signal to call my attention to the intensity of his moment and placed a weight on the next few steps I was going to take. In order to avoid interrupting the three of them I would have to retrace my steps and walk back around the car that was blocking my immediate move left, onto the street. I hovered for a moment then hurried by, along the pavement, hoping the birds wouldn’t fly away. They shuffled under the car, out of sight, clearing the path for me. Once I had taken a few strides past the scene I turned to look back. The two birds had returned to their original position. Still, I hadn’t walked around the car.

In front of me a couple walked in the opposite direction towards the unmoving man and his birds.