Walking mirror with scuffed reflections

A month later, I moved into a new apartment. It was on the third floor and had a balcony. The area was quieter during the day. There were mainly pensioners and families living in the neighborhood. On a normal day the old folks were sitting around, and the kids were playing. Until the sun went down – seniors talking to each other and youngsters romping around. You couldn’t hear cars that night. But you could hear people. If someone walked along the path between the residential buildings, you could hear in every window what the ant said at the bottom of the path. Each voice bounced in the walkway corridors between the concrete blocks, swaying up in an echo, and was delivered directly into your living room…including carried-with emotions. The madness of the common people can probably only be escaped behind wide property fences.
For example, on Saturday at 1:00 in the morning. People go out on weekends, get drunk, nothing new. When you’re out there, you see all kinds of things and get to know all kinds of people. As usual, I didn’t feel like it. I was sitting outside on my balcony smoking when a whiny murmur came from a far. I continued to smoke lightheartedly, didn’t let myself be startled and kept on listening into the night.
The murmuring came closer and below me, on the walkway between the residential buildings, it was going to pass me by. Soon I could hear the drowned voice of a girl under the whining who did a poor job withholding her tears. At first, I thought someone was with her. But only she talked and when she got closer, I could confirm, she was talking on the phone.
“No, I don’t want to hear what you’re thinking. You’re an asshole. Just leave me alone!”
For a moment, I was just thinking about shit that I could be saying when I go down and listen to what her problems were. But I had a second joint up ahead. I could have said one word down, one “hey” would have been enough and I could have done the rest. I’d have sat around with her, listened to her stupid problems, and we’d have gotten together for tonight.
“Yes, I’m a bitch, just leave mas there” she yelled into the phone.
I stretched my head out at her, over the balustrade of the balcony, and looked after her. The path was illuminated, albeit badly, the light was too much orange to see anything well. But at the distance she had something captivating, her voice, even if broken in mourning, I could endure. I would tell her about my problems, to get her to trust me, and see if she was willing to give me her story.
I decided not to interfere. The chance passed, and I followed her down the drain. She would have needed someone to listen to her, I would have listened to her only as much as I had to but would probably have exploited her at the first sign of weakness. I didn’t feel like waking up next to anyone. I pulled my head back in and smoked my joint down. “Stop it, disappear!” I heard it echo from far away.
I thought again briefly about whether I disregarded fate with my deed. Not that I would have ran after her.
“Leave me alone in peace” the wind carried along and a long “AHHHHHHHH!!!!” cry followed.
It’s like an owl was suddenly attacking her.
Fate does not exist. A delusion for the stupid. And if that drunken goose killed herself today, it wasn’t my problem. Someone else is calling the police for nothing because of the screaming, drawing attention to me and, actually, isn’t it considered good custom to leave nervous breakdowns at home?
I pressed the cigarette into the tray and went inside. I thought about the girl again later. She had probably cried her eyes out at home and had fallen asleep. Screaming in the streets for the sake of screaming. I found it quite amusing that night, but I hadn’t asked for the ticket to her drama performance.


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