yesterday, freshly showered and getting dressed, i heard the hearty sound of a man breaking wind. i stopped. looked around. wondered if that noise had somehow been me. wondered if, after we went to bed, toonses had cracked a six-pack of pbr then -- like i've taught him -- dabbed himself dry with a value meal from taco john's and was now a 30 pound trumpetting tabby.
i tested the floor boards for a farty loose board, all the while knowing that someone was probably hiding in the closet.
the best thing to do, when someone is hiding in the closet, is to pretend you don't know he is there. mutter something to yourself aloud, like ...
"lo-de lo-de lo ... hmmm ... maybe i'll just leave the bedroom and have an egg bagal. ... yes. an egg bagal."
casually leave the room, casually grab your cell phone, if possible, whistle cheerfully. preferably something recognizable, but not popular. like "happy birthday." then sprint out the apartment, with 9 and 1 already dialed in and your finger poised to retap the final 1.
i continued casually dressing and pffffftttt -- again with the flatulence. then i realized that this was the sound of my wet arm flab knocking against my highly flammable bra. the one, seemingly, made out of the same material as a wet suit.
ho-ho-ho, i chuckled. i guess for 45 dollars, this bra should do more than just sit there on my chest bored.
maybe that already had me on edge, but i spent the rest of the day freaked out. after midnight, i decided to test a new bike route home and cruised onto the lakewalk. the second i ditched superior street, i knew this was a terrible idea. if i were a murderer, this is exactly where i would hang out, away from traffic with just a single-bulbed light every 20 or so yards. it would be a scenic place to wrap a bike chain around some dumb-ass girl's neck, mortally challenging her chug-a-chug home.
i spit myself off the path near pickwick and rolled past the brewhouse where a dozen young drinkers were microbrewed, blurry and unleashed. staggering and chuckling like they had just stumbled from the tilt-o-whirl. two girls on longboards were skating in the middle of the street. i biked through a pot-flavored pocket of air.
these are the people the police would have interviewed later, when they found my lifeless body on the rocks. my teeth wrapped around the back tire.
"i didn't hear anything," they would say.
"there were a lot of people out and about and i didn't notice any stranglers," they would say.
eventually it would turn into a story about how they were 50 feet away when some girl was murdered on the lakewalk and how they could have died, too.