A Girl With Something Wrong With Her Brain
very wrong
My apartment building is blessed with its share of what it is gentlemanly to refer to as "characters", though I myself go in for "retards and drunks". Of the former group there are at least four. They have a leader, a normal-looking and semi-lucid girl in her twenties. Her troops include her boyfriend, whose condition is unmistakable due to his shambling gait, short limbs, tubbiness, and of course the retarded look that never leaves his face. In addition, there's a very tall, skinny man whose joints seem to have been installed backwards; he's either got some kind of physical disease in addition to his mental problems or he's been run over by a large truck and hastily reassembled.
The most recent show this lot have put on happened while I was standing outside enjoying a cigarette. One of the desk monitors was there as well. Our heroes came around the corner and all but the girl went inside. After a while she started talking to the monitor guy and eventually to me.
She told us about how she had a wedding to go to with her husband. It was, according to her, the wedding of her former fiancee, who she says has gotten her pregnant 3 times in the 18 months they'd been living together; she'd miscarried twice and was now pregnant with #3. The fiancee left her for a man and another woman. When he proposed, he said "honey will you marry me even though I'm a queer?" Fuck no, she replied, and ceased cleaning his house as a protest. So, apparently he was her fiancee for the time between his proposal and her saying no?
She bought him a candle for a wedding present, though, she said, a little scented one from the supermarket. She showed us. "Nice," I said, bugging my eyes out to the monitor by way of saying "Holy shit."
The first time I saw her, she was with the tubby one and they were conversing loudly. "You can't just go whippin it out in public!" she said, and I thought she was competent and he was her charge.
Then she added, "but we can just go behind a bush and SQUAT! We got more PRIV'LIDGES." Oh. They were debating who had more freedom in urination, men or women.
The next time I saw her, she was sitting outside singing to herself. Some pop song. She wasn't doing so too badly. She knew the words and the melody was right enough for it to sound like singing. That is, until the others came out and the fat boyfriend joined in, who did not sing so much as bark, as very retarded people sometimes do. I have deemed this practice "tard-barking". After their duet was finished, they all went inside. One of his boyfriendly duties involves the transporation of her bike up the stairs and into the lobby. "I don't know why you like to ride this raggedy-ass old thing," he said, hefting it.
The tall, spidery one spoke up. "Rag. Ass. Now we're talking. Hee, hee, hee!"
The most recent show this lot have put on happened while I was standing outside enjoying a cigarette. One of the desk monitors was there as well. Our heroes came around the corner and all but the girl went inside. After a while she started talking to the monitor guy and eventually to me.
She told us about how she had a wedding to go to with her husband. It was, according to her, the wedding of her former fiancee, who she says has gotten her pregnant 3 times in the 18 months they'd been living together; she'd miscarried twice and was now pregnant with #3. The fiancee left her for a man and another woman. When he proposed, he said "honey will you marry me even though I'm a queer?" Fuck no, she replied, and ceased cleaning his house as a protest. So, apparently he was her fiancee for the time between his proposal and her saying no?
She bought him a candle for a wedding present, though, she said, a little scented one from the supermarket. She showed us. "Nice," I said, bugging my eyes out to the monitor by way of saying "Holy shit."
The first time I saw her, she was with the tubby one and they were conversing loudly. "You can't just go whippin it out in public!" she said, and I thought she was competent and he was her charge.
Then she added, "but we can just go behind a bush and SQUAT! We got more PRIV'LIDGES." Oh. They were debating who had more freedom in urination, men or women.
The next time I saw her, she was sitting outside singing to herself. Some pop song. She wasn't doing so too badly. She knew the words and the melody was right enough for it to sound like singing. That is, until the others came out and the fat boyfriend joined in, who did not sing so much as bark, as very retarded people sometimes do. I have deemed this practice "tard-barking". After their duet was finished, they all went inside. One of his boyfriendly duties involves the transporation of her bike up the stairs and into the lobby. "I don't know why you like to ride this raggedy-ass old thing," he said, hefting it.
The tall, spidery one spoke up. "Rag. Ass. Now we're talking. Hee, hee, hee!"
