I wanted to go into this weekend caught up on my stories for the week, so I’m recycling this old story I sent to Matt, back when I lived in Brooklyn. Enjoy!
Jesus Christ, man… last night Sarah and I were just settling down to bed and she looks up and screams – there’s an enormous waterbug near my ceiling. Do you know what those things are? They’re like 3 inch-long flying cockroaches. It was the filthiest, hugest, flyingest thing I’ve ever seen.
Sarah ran into the bathroom and shut the door while I was left to battle the monster alone with my shoe. “Turn off the light! It likes the light!” she screamed. “I’m not going to be alone in the dark with it!” I shouted back. I stood in front of the bathroom door with my shoe, she stood behind the door, which was cracked just a little bit. Neither of us are wearing pants.
The thing flew toward my closet. Suddenly, I couldn’t see it. I stand there waiting for it to make a move. I can’t wait any longer, I peek my head under the door frame and see the thing perched there on the ledge, just waiting to strike. I reach my hand around the frame and give it a quick wack. “Got it!” I screamed. The bug falls to the ground and immediately scurries into the corner underneath my dartboard. Sarah starts heading out of the bathroom.
“Stay in there!” I scream. “It’s still kicking!” After another 5 minute tussle with the thing running back and forth under the step ladder, trying in vain to fly, I finally counter it as it makes its way up the ladder and I crush the living shit out of the bastard. It was a fierce battle. The rest of the night, I kept feeling something crawling on me and slapping it away.
All I could think was that the heat, the insects, the fact that I had to carry 4 distinct, heavy bags home with me last night (workbag, gym clothes, Staples purchases, groceries), all of it was saying to me – “Get out of this city NOW, motherfucker.”