In your notebook or on the computer, write a scene that occurs between no more than four characters in one single location over a unified period of time (a morning, a day, or even a long meal).
Winter storm Gloria had dumped a foot of snow on most parts of Rhode Island. Weather technology being so advanced in 2020, schools were called the day before, which meant the idiot neighbor would be out there with his measly shovel to dig out almost a ton of snow - a driveway thirty yards long and ten yards wide, as his sons “helped.” How can he not possess a snow blower. I watch this idiot toil away for hours with this heavy, great snowball making snow. I have to imagine his back will suffer soreness untold. Of course he takes breaks here and there, to yell at his sons, one wielding a sharp edged shovel, trying his best to help the old man but probably just creating more work, when he isn’t nearly decapitating the old man with reckless swings. The other son has a broken plastic shovel but gave up helping an hour ago to roam the yard and ponder things to break. Two hours of this and I see him head back inside - not even half-done with this monstrosity of a driveway. His neighbors have a service - a huge truck with a plow comes in and wipes the driveway clean in ten minutes. This guy shovels his back to mincemeat for two hours and isn’t close to done. About a half-hour later he trudges back out, yells at his boys about not killing or maiming each other and sets back to murdering his back. This idiot, taking years off his life, because he’s too cheap or too dumb to get a snow blower, is nearing completion as the suns sets, taking breaks only to reign in his sons, when I decide to pour salt in his wounds and take my snow blower over and help out. Ha ha this fucking guy. You should have seen the look in his soul - not on his face, no he was all “Thanks!” on his face but his soul was all, “Could have used you three hours ago.” I love it. I clear the end of the driveway for him, oh and get this, right as I’m turning around to leave, I say, “Merry Christmas,” and this dolt, who can barely stand up by now says, “Thanks.” Merry Christmas indeed.
Upon thinking about this little anecdote: most of the men, I assume, in my neighborhood, my age, would probably have a heart attack if they had to shovel my driveway. For my health I am thankful. Upon thinking about this little anecdote: if I knew how much the men in my neighborhood made, I would probably have a heart attack.
ReplyDelete