Loud Clouds

The woman turned, a coy expression on her face, and began walking toward Mamet. Her hair glistened in the light and cascaded down over her olive shoulders. Mamet was mesmerized. Her movements were so fluid as she glided toward him. The light, flowing fabric of her dress floated around her perfect legs. Mamet thought she looked as though she was drifting on a cloud. She raised a delicate hand and gestured for him to come nearer. Her fingers were slender and graceful and they seemed to pull Mamet towards her like a puppeteer. His feet felt like lead as he began moving in her direction. As they came closer together, the straps of her dress began to slide off of their perches on her shoulders. Mamet's heart quickened with anticipation.
VROOM VROOM VROOM! The sound of the Yamaha motorcycle's engine woke Mamet with a start. His eyes shot open and he jumped out of bed, and ran to the open window. Looking down, he saw Jason turning of his bike and removing his helmet. "Dammit Jason", Mamet shouted. "What the hell are you doing with that piece of junk this early in the morning"? "Just trying to clear my head", Jason yelled back. "How the hell is the racket supposed to clear your head", Mamets retorted. The man thought for a second. "Well, somethin about the adrenaline rush that I get, sorta helps calm my nerves", he said. Mamet couldnt understand some people. "Well th e next time you come through here this early in the morning, Im going to fill your head with something that adrenaline sure as hell wont cure"! Mamet slammed the window and sat down on his bed. A few seconds later, he dashed back to the window, opened and shouted down at Jason, "You should try shrink. Or maybe a woman. That bike isnt gonna work for you. Believe me, I know." He closed the window and went to take a shower. Damn motorcycles.
Mamet sat at his table, eating cereal, and thinking about the dream. Dreams normally didnt affect him. Dreams were just the subconscience dumping out the extra garbage from the day. However, something about the girl got to him somehow. It was as though she reminded him of a person that he had known, not in physical apprearance, but more in idea form. This made no sense, and Mamet hated pondering over things that he couldnt understand. Grunting, he threw the rest of the cereal down the garbage disposal, grabbed his hat, and headed out the door. Electing to take the elevator, Mamet pressed the button and waited. The bell dinged, and the door opened. Mamet begab walking through the door with his eyes angled down. As he stepped across the small gap, into the elevator car, he looked up at the person standing in the elevator. It was her.

Complaining: Furniture, Cell Phones, Everett, and Her

Damn movers! Mamet navigated around the maze of overweight men lugging gaudy old furniture through the lobby. Mamet couldnt understand what people saw in ornate, expensive, completely functionless furniture like the stuff being manhandled across the atrium in front of him. He liked things simple, including the furnshings that he chose to surround himself with. Simple but useful, and in the case of furniture, comfortable. Mamet's bedroom held a plain brass bed, a lamp for reading, and an old radio. Television annoyed him. The one thing that showed some signs of excessive pampering was his terrace garden. Mamet had never been much of a people person and there was something about being alone in nature that put him at peace. He was an avid gardener who enjoyed watching things grow as he nurtured and cared for them. His plants were like children, just without all the diapers and whining, he told himself. This attraction for agriculture was why, at the moment, Mamet was ducking past the last leathered obstacle in the lobby and out the revolving doors into the sunshine. He headed to the garage to pick up his car. He would have rather walked, however, he was planning on buying something rather large for his garden and needed the transportation that a car provided. The valet Pokey wasnt at his stand and Mamet decided to wait. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number of the root shop on the other side of town. Next to television, cell phones got under Mamet's skin more than anything. What bothered him most of all is that society delegated that he must own one. He had resisted as long as possible but eventually was forced to purchase one of the infernal gadgets. He kept it turned off as much as possible and "forgot" it at home whenver he could. The woman at the root shop answered and told him that she did, in fact, carry the item that he wished to purchase. He thanked her and hung up. Pokey arrived with the car, Mamet handed him a few dollars tip, and drove off in the direction of the root shop. As he pulled up next to the store, his gaze fell on the book shop located next door. Thinking that it might be good to brush up on some seasonal gardening techniques, Mamet parked the car and walked into the store. A little bell on the door jingled as he pushed it open. The woman at the desk looked up and smiled. He nodded back and turned down one of the aisles that lay between the varnished oak shelves overflowing with colorful volumes. He passed the romance section, glancing over to see the numerous half naked women that were plastered on nearly every book cover in the section. He moved on toward the back of the store, the musty smell of less read books getting stronger. As he past the crime novel section he saw a guy looking at some of the court room dramas. The man was staring intently at the covers as though trying to absorb the content by osmosis. Mamet decided to do him a favor. "Don't read those court room stories. They are a complete waste of time and never even come close to painting even the slightest picture of reality. Thats the reason that young lawyers are always disappointed when they finally become litigators. Its cause they read those pieces of crap." The other man turned and grinned at Mamet. "Hi, Im Everett Carson. You sound like a funny guy. A couple of us have a poker game one night a week, you should stop by." Mamet was a little suprised at this amicable response but replied that he would think about it. The man gave him a telephone number and went on his way. Mamet continued on to the agriculture section, purchased his book, and headed next door to the root shop. He opened the door and was accosted by a strong earthy scent. As he stepped across the threshhold, he glanced to his right and the community garden. Thats when he saw her.

Mamet's Intro

Mamet stared blankly through the glass front window of the tattoo parlor. He watched as a young kid hopped up into the chair and proceeded to have his upper arm sanitized in preparation for his tattoo. Mamet had never understood the attraction to this odd "art form". It wasnt that he was afraid of pain, he had dealt with worse than a few needle pricks in his lifetime. He had simply never felt strongly enough about something to have it permenantly stained into his skin. Still, watching this slightly sadistic ritual through the window of All American Tattoo gave him a small, not-so-guilty tingle of pleasure. After a few winces and failed attempts to appear macho on the part of the skin-head receiving his arm full of ink, Mamet became bored. Placing his hands in the pockets of his pleated slacks, he turned and began walking down Barnaby Street toward the corner and the entrance to his apartment building. He paused a moment in front of the dilapidated lot that sat next to where he lived. Mamet could not remember a time when this spit of ground had carried any redeeming qualities, by normal society standards at least. Like many of his views, Mamet's opinion on this lot was counter-culture. In his mind, this lot represented the last remnant of a town that had been lost in a world of the materialistically minded, appreance obsessed culture of the current day. Nothing about this lot was excessive, except perhaps the weeds that threatened to swallow the rotting light post that stood alone surrounded by gravel and decay. Mamet liked this light post. It had survived generations of abuse from activist's staple guns, the local gang's pastime of climbing it's trunk, and of course the elements. In the past years it had slowly begun to decay along with the rest of the lot. Mamet saw a great deal of himself in this light post. Perhaps that is why, two years ago, he had chosen to purchase the post, along with the surrounding lot when the city council had announced that it was going to be leveled and used for condominiums. Thanks to Mamet, the lot was being allowed to live out it's last years with pride. Despite all of his musings, Mamet was not sentimentaly inclined in the slightest. In fact, showing too much enthusiasm for something was a waste of time in his opinion. Everything was temporary and when it came down to it, incredibly inconsequential. He liked what the lot represented but as long as it was allowed to run its course and decay with dignity, Mamet would be happy. When the time came and and light post was gone, he would not lose sleep or shed tears. Things come and go and all one can do is glean whatever enjoyment possible and move on. Thats how Mamet approched pretty much every aspect of his life. But for now, he liked that light post. Bored with this line of thinking, Mamet picked up a rock, took aim, and sent a bullet at the center of the post. Getting old was making him soft. He gave a kick at the gravel that had crept out onto the sidewalk and headed into his apartment building.

1st Entry

ahh whats going on????