Notes

Character

He’s tall and lanky. Hispanic? No, that is too obvious, you’re Hispanic. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe they would. You could describe him as tall, and they could infer whatever they want.

That’s a horrible description. Let’s not think about this for now.

(He’s male)

Story

What to write?

Just think. It all starts with a room: The outward-est outward description of the character. If it’s clean, he’s clean, if it’s dirty, he’s dirty. And if the knives are all jammed up into the garbage disposal, that’s a Freudian slip right there.

 
Room. A room has four walls

Just think, for instance if the room is dirty. And tiny. If the room is dirty and tiny he would need to have a shitty salary.

He still needs money to pay the room. And what does he eat?

A little piece of chicken here and there. Perhaps canned tuna? It’s better than nothing… His salary!

He works as a waiter good, but not quite

in a diner                        good good

during night shift!      Ah, more dramatic

or late afternoon        that’s more sensible

If he’s a waiter.

Average waiter’s annual salary:

18,000. Then divide that by 12.

18,000 /12= 1,500. Then divide that by 4.

                         1, 500/4= 375  and then

                                             375/24= 15.6, so

                                                                15.6/60= .260 (should I round this number?), huh

                                                                              .260/60= .0043

I don’t know what this means. I hate math. Let’s forget about it. This person is of “low income”, no further explanations. Let’s forget about math.

 But imagine that…

                                    .260 cents per minute.

                                   .260 cents that buy (approximately) seven minutes in a shitty apartment. Imagine that

cents for a room

      and the room is important

                         extremely important.

Tuna is too.

Tuna.

Ramen too, actually. It contains all sort of things.   

Then again, let's better not include noodles.  Or eat them. Ever.      

Tuna.

                           By itself: what feeds this person.

 A room without food makes no sense. 

It needs a window also.

               With          a bathroom

                                  and  a view is

essential.

There should be mountains.

Then again .260 cents are, in all likeliness, not enough for that.

There could be a street. With a huge tree looming over

the neighbor’s house. He would look at it from

the window and wonder and measure in his head

the probabilities of it falling d

                                                        o

                                                        w

                                                        n

               top

on          of his room.

This is better. It is.

No mountains. Just a street. Houses lining both sides of it, each with two rooms and slightly different/same views.

.260 cents for seven minutes in a room

 15 times 365 and

.260 for five minutes? NO! wait. Not quite. Let’s forget about math.

Who cares

Who cares about a sofa, or a duvet, or a chaise lounge. 

There could be a bean bag. But no.

As long as there’s a chair and a table. A fully functioning chair to sit in. To think in. to cry in. Maybe jack off in. Who knows?

And the walls. There must be

                 Wallpaper too.

With stripes of different colors to make him feel like he’s inside a circus.

He likes the circus.

And kitchen tiles! With little roses on them. No wait, he wouldn’t like that. With bulls, and a swan, and an elephant somewhere.

Blue on white. It helps to soothe his soul. The blue elephant, especially.

                             He counts them everyday, when he’s bored.

                                                                                   And he’s bored everyday.

There are 24 blue elephants

in his dirty apartment with a window, and a view to the street. There are bugs too, crawling on the window glass. He hopes they’re outside. But then he sees one of them crawling worming it’s way on top of the blue (on white) elephant.

Must be July or August. Warm as hell. Perspiration sticking the clothes to his body.

                                                                                       Perspiration acting like glue.

And the bugs! They’re everywhere. Little wings fluttering in the stagnant air.     

                              He should not care about the bugs. In fact, what bugs?! But then a 

Logically             one flies too close for comfort and his body shakes like a leaf. He gets

                               caught up in thinking about insects and the way they crawl. It’s a

                              vicious circle.

That’s it that’s it. There will be an important scene with the insects and the tiles and the elephant that’s it.

                                                                               

And of course there’s no way out.

There is no door.

And nobody there to see it

Not a single one.

Just a chair and a table and the walls with wallpapers,

                    and the tiles with blue elephants.

                    And the .260 cents that buy him some minutes. Then seconds.

                                                                                                                Then nothing.