Kelvin sat in his room, his sanctuary, mulling over life.
The window was open wide, like the ladies mouths in the street, in hope that some fresh air might just filter through.
The ladies mouths were open and doing quite the opposite.
Hot blasts of loud, irritating air streamed up and into his room.
They sounded to him like a murder of crows, chasing each other with short sentences.
The words that rode the waves, like foghorns on surfboards, were full of a mundane banality that virtually tore at Kelvin’s eardrums and brain.
It was all:
“I couldn’t believe the size of” this and “you know what it’s like” about the other.
He could hear them discussing their sex lives, their money situations, the state of their favourite soaps and, of course, their men.
To Kelvin it was all very unnecessary. Why couldn’t they just step inside their houses and prattle on, whilst cupping a steaming cup of their very own annoyance.
All he wanted was to sit and meditate and the three horse-faced women of the apocalypse were driving him to despair.
“Shut up!” He told the window, in almost a plea.
They either didn’t hear him or were too focused on spewing out raucous babble to care.
He told them again. Louder.
They continued without a pause for breath.
Just at the moment his blood began to steam in his ears and eyes, they stopped and the street below returned to relative quiet.
The relief through the young man immeasurable.
He returned to thinking about nothing once more.
Until he became too hungry not to eat.