Leaf Blower

                                                 Leaf Blower

The steroidal jagged buzz of the leaf blower stabbed at her ears.

Again, and again like some horror movie.

God she hated them.

Again and again.

Would it ever end?

For god sake, it’s good enough.

Stop already.

There he was across the street.

Holding it like some gangster with a tommy gun.

Really Tommy gun what year is this. But I digress.

There he was out in front of Mrs. Conti’s small white house.

Seriously, how long could it take to finish.

The whir seemed endless.

And though she was fortified with a bottle of red wine she couldn’t just go to the backyard or upstairs on the deck to get away.

No, it was everywhere.

Maybe if I talked to him she thought.

She just felt pulled to register some kind of protest.

One last gulp of wine and she stepped out of the house.

She walked barefoot across the front lawn to the road.

The frantic menacing buzz increasing as she got close to the offender.

Hello

HELLO.

HEY!

Finally, she got his attention.

I know you are just doing your job but it is driving me nuts.

Are you gonna be done soon?

The look of scorn and disgust on his sweaty soil-y face said it all.

Look lady I’m just trying to finish. He said

I know it’s just that the sound is piercing. I hate those things. She said.

And by extension she hated him for violating her ears. Her sanctuary of the afternoon drink.

It was a mistake to go out.

But here she was adorned in a stained t-shirt and some cut-off black stretch pants. The height of femininity. Her hair without a wash for nearly a week plastered on her head. Pulled back in a pony-tail with a beige rubber band that had once held a pile of mail.

The sweaty man finally finished and piled his lawn torture tools back into his van. What a bitch he mumbled.

By then she had turned and lumbered back up the lawn. Back into the house. Back onto her couch. Back to her bottle of wine.

Asshole, she thought. God I hate those things.