The View From Scranton

Of Locks & Mandates

At the House, they lock us out. Not in, mind you. Out. There's a lock on the door to the upstairs residents' quarters. A lock on the door to the dayroom and the sign-in/sign-out desk. If we wanna come in. If we wanna go out. If we wanna go upstairs to eat or sleep or loo. If we wanna make our way to the lot-cum-lounge and smoke. We knock. Or, if we're bold and stupid, we ring. And we wait for the monito to unlock the lock. Some say it's 'cause a man came into a House in Harrisburg and gunned down another man. Others say it has something to do with infidelity and threats. I believe both, neither, refuse to conject. It is what it is.

This morning I stood in the vestibule corridor for twenty-five minutes and waited to go drudge and droll. It's not the first time I waited. It's not even the first time I waited that day. It is however the first time I waited so long. And it the first time I was made late to go to a place of mandate.

Not that I missed anything. If there's one certainty in this rigid world it's that I won't miss anything where I drudge and droll. Anything wouldn't miss me either. Seriously. A monkey could do what I do better, a machine could do it better still. Better yet would be to have no one do it at all and rid this town of much much sadness.

Yes, I guess the hill people are beginning to get to me. Oh, we're not close. Not even close. But I mind them less. Even find a comaraderie of sorts. There's a bond that only common toil can forge. Though our talk is limited to shop and trash, it is talk. An elemental exchange between beings stripped of their sentience. I'd like to hit the bar with a few of 'em, see what happens when their hair's been washed, how they breathe outta the fumes and the dust and the stupor. That of course is outta the question. My mandate is to be there, to be here, and not to drink about it.

posted by John Hood. @ 10:59 PM