I have described, complained, and stared at that building. (“Bill” and I were staring at it when he made this comment.) There are pictures and musings. And somehow I still can’t get over how it, or they, have become a part of my life (the picture on the header is the same as you see below, for chrissakes). An unwanted, unwarranted part.

I enjoy sitting outside to smoke, read, or just sit. Usually all three. There it is. The scape to the north is blocked by the “L” shape of my own building and to the south a fence meets your wandering eyes. It was installed by the prior tenants to define the back porch property into two agreeable quadrants. Every so often, maybe once a week, I catch a glimpse of my neighbor, a quiet Korean gentlemen of maybe 50 years, and we exchange formalities. I have seen his wife once and only heard his child a few times. It is a fantastic setup.

Except for Ugly Building East. Edges of sky creep around the edges but all other focus is drawn to the happenings inside the windows. A man rocking in his chair watching television. A woman doing laundry. Someone leaving for a trip and his shirtless roommate sending him off. It is like being in the NASA control room with hundreds of monitors. The turning on and off of lights, the colors on the walls, the flashing cathodes of TV sets all remind me of a vertical dance floor. The squares pulsing with the vibrations of life, but who can be the judge of who is actually living.

The most fascinating, and nauseating, thing about the geography of my building is that to the west, out of my living room window, stands Ugly Building West. They have separate names, different light patterns and patrons, but the same architect. The building is an exact replica of Ugly Building East, or vice versa. I don’t know which came first. UBW does have the advantage of a Jewel-Osco on the first floor. And a gym. And an acupuncturist. I wonder how the rents differ.

One night, after procuring a Discovery Channel telescope, I set up shop in my living room facing UBW. There were only a handful of lights on so I focused on a random abode. I didn’t stare though the telescope but kept my eyes focused on the whole building to catch any movement. When I would see something I could train the scope on the square and watch. (Keep in mind, I am not a habitual voyeur. Curiosity does get the better of me at times, though.) My lights were out to insure the best visibility and my own secrecy. The music played and I watched. All of a sudden…

Three windows up. A figure. I grabbed my notebook to record what I witnessed:

6/14/07

11:13pm

Telescope is focused on West Big Building. Christmas lights in the window. Large man approaches, grabs binoculars, and peers directly at me.

Frozen in fear.

Lowers binoculars. Wipes his teeth with his finger and directs the binoculars toward the building named East Big Building.

He lowers at what seems to be disappointment at not finding anything. I think he went to bed.

How many times has he done this? I know for a fact this was my first time. The chances of it being both of our first times is highly improbable. What has he seen? Has he recognized me on the street, and if so what goes through his head?

I have tried to find him again, to no avail. I haven’t changed any of my domestic habits, the windows and curtains remain open. I think the only thing that has changed is my focus on that particular window, still with Christmas lights, and my constant wondering of what he is like.

Tonight I sit sandwiched between these monstrosities and think of the sunlight, privacy, and fresh air that I am missing out on.

When the temperature reaches up and grabs 95 degrees by the scrotum, everyone winces in pain. Passers-by growl and glare in wet, stinky rags. Smiles that, as recently as Sunday, well-wished and laughed over a coffee now remain silent and sucking on water. The air is thick with it yet everyone still craves it. The more we drink the more we excrete. Wet Hell on Earth.

Then it happens. The summer storm. Closing the eyelids of the sky, it coughs and blinks in a torrential downpour. The only quiet time in the city is when the rain comes. The piper that cleans the streets of aural pollution. An occasional bird swoops to a warm home in the tree and a passenger from a bus runs to the nearest awning–a halfway house for children. Everyone watches in silence, whether out in the open or from inside their homes, as the water pours from above and floods the streets and the self with awe.

After it subsides, the birds call out for each other. A few in the trees, one on a power line, and a few from my neighbor’s back porch. Cheerful singing: “The city is our bird bath!”.

The same storm in the middle of the ocean; the rain drenched deck seems to almost splinter under the jarring pressure of the water coming from every direction. Aching and rumbling like the heavens are shitting out a plague. In a situation like that one has a single choice and that is to lie down and accept your fate. Absorb the life source that will kill you and thirst for dryer times, thirst with everything inside, and accept defeat.

Every manhole and sewer cover in the city is now flooded. I know it is. They’ll still be overflowing tomorrow morning. If the sewer can’t handle that much water what will happen when Lake Michigan eventually spills its shore and engulfs everyone in a stenchy death? The fish will rule. That’s what will happen.

UPDATE: I was right.

I decided to jump into Lake Michigan last night. I lept from a three to four foot tall iron platform only to realize that the water is roughly one foot deep. My foot was the body part that took most of the grunt. I thought it would be okay, so I walked home on it.

Now it is swollen and when I put the slightest weight on it, I get sick to my stomach. I figured this out by standing on it first thing. I then drug myself to the bathroom and puked.

I am now waiting on my neighbors to wake up so they can drive to the hospital.