...Not the kind of wheel you fall asleep at...


Last night, I sat out late on my roof. It was beautiful out, the kind of temperature where you don't notice the temperature because it feels exactly in harmony with your own. A few houses down, sexy subdued notes of a trumpet slurred themselves from a neighbor's window. I listened quietly, feeling as though I should be in New Orleans, sitting out on my roof in the sweltering heat, beads of sweat trembling their way down my bare thighs. It was lovely.

But I've gotta admit, even better was about a week ago when I was sitting out on the roof in the afternoon, and suddenly the same trumpet started loudly blatting "Be Our Guest" out the window from a couple houses over, DIRECTLY out the window, as though performing for the neighborhood. This then mutated into a theme song from some TV-show that I couldn't quite pinpoint. And then the song from Super Mario Bros. And then the trumpeter began punctuating the end of each song with a guttural YEAAAAAHHHH, as though he'd just SLAM-DUNKED some rockstar performance at a sold-out venue somewhere, when in reality, he'd just finished yet ANOTHER horrendous Disney-song, which this time was accompanied by the original version, playing along tinnily in the background on some shitty cassette-player or another so he could try to match the rhythm.

After about 5 minutes, I had to excuse myself from the roof for fear of embarassing him with my uncontrollable laughter. And also because I was afraid that I might try to throw my bra at him in appreciation.



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