Finally

NATHAN L MARSHALL

Finally, they are removing the weed-of-a-tree growing on the rooftop across the way. It took four men and a crane, but it sure was an eyesore. I wonder how much it cost.

Around the block they’ll pay whatever you say to put batteries in smoke detectors, or a rail down a stairwell.

A typical ceiling is 8 feet up. Nicer homes are ten. Some, twelve. But these are 30. (So be careful.)

“Are you Nathan Marshall? The artist? I’ve been trying to grow oregano...”

‘Sure, I can grow it. We might as well replace every weed in the yard with it...’

A stranger hands you a wad of cash for nothing. A drunk man offers to buy you a drink. A good business is a good chance to come clean.

“This pool may be vacant, but it’s worth $1,000,000.00. It may not seem like much, but just being here is an enormous achievement.”

'I already gave you a quote, remember? This blue makes you feel pure. This grey makes you feel cared for…'

“Here is a souvenir: Number 41-48. A whole section of the-last-remaining-part-of-your-neighborhood’s liquidation. Yarn and crochet. Each of those is worth eight thousand."

The drunk man laughs and grabs for your leg.

“I wish people would stop honking. I’m glad you saw me. My gas light is broken, and my phone fell in the pool. I have a gas can, but it’s empty too. Thanks for your card, my Auntie needs a painter. Could you close the trunk when you leave? I don’t know why I popped it…”

From the rooftop, you read a blog with some unusual substance, wondering, laughing, tickled, unsure when the series of 30 foot ceilings below you will start cracking:

“If there is just one of them per country.”