Cough, cough. Something about this album grabbed me right from the start. The Black Eyes and their harsh, counter-melodic rhythmic carpet-bombing made me crave memories and concrete. Outspoken, bizarre, Christian, and on Dischord: what was not to like? It was noise and art and intentional and smart. Who's to say?

Guess what I wrote in my black notebook today? I padded back in from the bathroom determined to make conversation.

I don't want to hear about it right now, she snapped. Why don't you get out of here before something happens again?

The red and yellow streamers she'd hung flickered on the ceiling. The room was on fire. It was so hot. I watched them ripple and wave in the fan's extension-cord powered wind. Silence, except for the white noise from the fan and the street, pervaded the conversation. It was like a separate party, arguing incessantly for breathing loudly. The cars rolled by downstairs. The fan huffed.

I said get out of here. You better. Her eyes narrowed and there was a little jump in my heart. I was happy to have her attention, but I couldn't understand what was the matter.

Are you having a nervous breakdown or something? I asked, hoping that she would answer yes. I have had a nervous breakdown. It's not fun. I did not tell her this.

Do I look like I'm having a nervous breakdown? I just want you to leave. A light rain joined the conversation, though the sun was still shining outside. Do you understand me?

It's raining, babe. I don't want to go. I want to figure out what I can do to help. I started putting on my backpack and my shoes anyway. She wasn't going to budge, not now. I was going to have to leave. My shoes squeaked on the wood floor as I double-knotted the laces. No socks. Great, I thought, my feet are going to be soaked when I get home. Have to put the shoes in front of the heat register.

You can leave. She was on the verge of tears now.

Are you, uhh....is it that time of the month? I pulled my backpack straps down, momentarily tightening my backpack before letting go and allowing the bag to drop a few inches and settle with a satisfying 'whuff.' So there, rain.

She shot a dark look to let me know that her menstrual cycle was not up for discussion now.

I just wish I could be of service to you somehow, I whined as I turned to walk out of the room.

Well, you can't. I could hear her lower lip shaking through the words, an oscillation that could have been interference from the fan, but wasn't. You can't help me with this.

I knew well enough not to ask if there were anyone else involved. It could only make matters worse. Besides, I didn't really want to know if there were. What was I going to do, hit them with a baseball bat? My feet plodded out the door and into the hall. Well, bye. I guess I'll call you.

She didn't answer. A lot of things went sprinting through my mind. Should I wait outside and see if anyone slips out the door? Where would I hide? It was raining. This was ridiculous. If she wanted to have her problems to herself, whatever they were, then let her. I opened the front door and looked up the unlit stairwell into the corner where the stairs bent into the upstairs hallway. I love you, I said. Please let this be okay.

Outside the ground had the fresh smell of rain and dirt, street grit kicking up into the graying skies. Summer was coming to an end. I felt each individual splash of rain on my legs and bare arms. Usually we don't have real rain, just sprinkling drizzle for days. This felt good almost. It was real.

Down the street a woman walking her dog cinched her sweatshirt's drawstring so that the hood wrapped tight around her face, framing it like a coccoon. Her hands were pulled up into the cuffs, too, the leash shooting out and waggling here and there following a great big German Shepherd. She looked like one of those 'invisible dog' leashes with the wire stuck in the leash and collar, except backwards, like her clothes had the wires in them and the dog was the real part of the trick. It wasn't cool enough for what she was wearing.

When we passed, I asked, Aren't you hot?

I know it, she said, with her almost invisible face. I chuckled and kept walking.

This gray atomie looks to me like a shower of gray atomies. Nothing is the same as it ever has been and nothing will ever be the same again. I can't stand thinking about the past in this way. I can't stand looking at all the nauseous people, there on the subway, with their books and their photographs in their wallets, holding onto scraps of paper.