He made phone
calls all day and no one answered, and he knew his service was
disconnected, but still he called, and still no one answered.
Someone locked the doors on his apartment, and he could not get out. He
made phone calls and no one answered. He called 911 and no one answered.
He stood on his balcony and threw pictures and coins and candles down at
the neighbors' houses, tracing their trajectories with his eyes, drawing
long dotted lines through the air and imagining that these were
connections, that he could speak to his neighbors through these dotted
He kicked his
door as hard as he could. He tipped over his coffee table and tore out the
pages of all the coffee table books he had bought. He stood on his balcony
and screamed at his neighbors. He threw books hard at their windows, but
the glass did not break. The glass wobbled and danced, and laughed at him.
He jumped off
his balcony and traced his trajectory as he fell, a bold dotted line
through the air. He aimed for the neighbors rooftop, but missed by inches.
He fell and shattered his legs on the pavement. The paramedics called him
"buddy" as they carried him to the hospital. A beautiful nurse told him
everything was going to be ok. She tucked him into a clean white bed, and
he never saw her again.
woke in the night and saw monsters roaming out in the dark halls. Giant
paws and black eye holes, sharp hooves and scaly tails, brief glimpses
disappearing around corners. He called out to them, but they didn't
answer. He threw movies and magazines at the monsters, and at the other
patients in his room, and out his window, tracing dotted lines in all
directions, sending his voice pulsing out like a global broadcast. But he
was was disconnected, and no one answered.