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.