I was working on writing something, but the thoughts weren't flowing well. I stood, walked to the front door, and, still standing inside, looked outside at the surrounding city. I was living near a college campus where I had only recently begun studying. I thought to myself that when I had originally been in college I should have taken more courses in English or writing. And I should have done more writing when I had been in law school.
As I looked outside, I noticed a group of people approaching the house. Gradually I realized that they were college students (about a hundred and almost all female), and that they were all singing songs together. Obviously it was some kind of chorus group for the college, but it seemed strange that they should be out on the street singing like this. What seemed stranger was that they kept moving toward my house, until finally they were gathered together on my front porch. A man who appeared to be a professor was leading the chorus. He had his back to the front of the house as he faced the chorus which were facing the front of the house.
I was so surprised I didn't really know what to do. It didn't look as if they had picked my house out for any reason, but as if they were just randomly going along the street and had just happened to have stopped in front of my house. But as long as they were here, I thought I would like to get a better look at them. I walked over to the large picture window and pulled up the blinds. Now I could see them clearly and I could see their faces looking at me.
I wondered whether I should invite them in. I had only moved into the house (no more than a small cottage) a few weeks before and it was rather sparsely furnished. In fact it looked as if there was almost nothing in the living room. However I realized the house was still better than the accommodations which most students had since they mostly lived in cramped apartments.
I walked to the door and opened it. Almost immediately a couple young Hispanic fellows tried to come in. I put up my hand to them to hold them back. I didn't really want the house flooded with people and they didn't look like the type of people I wanted inside. When they backed away, I allowed a woman to walk in and look around the room. She was tall, slender and had brown hair. She looked as if she were probably in her 30s. She didn't particularly appeal to me, but I didn't mind her presence.
She quickly saw that the room was sparsely furnished. She also noticed that on one wall I had hung a couple of collages which I had recently made. She walked over and took one from the wall and looked at it more closely. It was about 30 by 60 centimeters in size. It was rather colorful and the pictures on it were arranged in a meaningful design. I thought I had done a good job with it. When she put it back on the wall, she had a hard time getting it to stay right, and she almost caused the second collage to fall.
She turned her attention to the second collage, which she left hanging on the wall. It was almost twice as big as the first one, but it wasn't nearly as well done. Some pictures were arranged in a row at the bottom and they didn't seem to fit well with the rest of the collage. I wished she could see one of my better works. I remembered on my bedroom wall I had a collage which I liked very much which I had made many years ago. I told her to wait a minute, that I would be right back.
I hurried to my bedroom, grabbed the collage and headed back to the front room. I hoped the woman wouldn't read too much into the fact that a sitting Buddha was one of the central pictures of the collage. When I returned to the front room, she was sitting on the floor. As I handed her the collage, I pointed out that the right side of the frame was loose and that she would have to hold it with her hand. She took it and began looking at it.
I walked over to the only couch in the room and sat down. Almost immediately another fellow walked in and lay down on the couch with his head at the other end so that his big shoes were almost touching me. This was my roommate. I had almost forgotten about him. He was about 20 years old and had his brown hair cut in a burr. And he was obviously right on the verge of mental retardation. For a second I wondered if I should be ashamed of his presence, but I immediately concluded I should not. He was actually more than a roommate: I to some extent helped take care of him. I didn't think people would disparage me for living with him; and if they did, well, that was their problem.
As he lay there, he mentioned something about a wedding I had gone to earlier in the day. I recalled that indeed I had gone to a wedding of a woman whom I used to date. But I had long ago ceased caring for the woman, and I didn't want to go into any of the details of that with the woman who was now in the room. I quickly gave him to understand that that wasn't an appropriate topic at the moment.
I now realized another woman had come into the room from outside. And this one definitely appealed to me. I stood and walked over to her, wondering what to say to her. She was in her early 20s, was well-built and had black hair. She had a happy, vivacious look about her, and she struck me as being intelligent. When she smiled I saw that she was wearing silver braces. We quickly began talking. She let me know that she had been talking to Tim Truman about an hour before and he had told her a little about me. She said, "He told me you liked to live luxuriously."
Rather self-defacingly I gestured to the surrounding humble room and home in which I lived and said, "Oh, this is really luxurious."
Clearly I wasn't living in luxury, but she pointed out that it would be easy for me to move from this house into better accommodations, and mentioned a couple of other types of better homes. We were standing rather close together and I was very much enjoying the conversation, but suddenly someone else came in and said the chorus leader wanted her to return, that the group was moving on to another spot. The black-haired woman and the other woman both headed for the door. I was very disappointed to see the black-haired woman leaving. I might never see her again. I wondered if I should ask for her telephone number. I had only known her for a few moments, and was unsure that would be appropriate, but I thought I had seen a show somewhere where it was advised that it was best to ask for someone's telephone number within the first few minutes. I hesitated, wondering whether I should, especially since other people were around watching us.
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