"Small" writing challenges for my small writing talent. Hotel note pads are the only space allowed. Let's see if I can strip it down and tighten it up to learn something. Improving my skill of weird fiction.
There is a rhythm to flip flops — an influence to our head bobbing behavior far greater than hypnotic windshield wipers on a rainy highway. I walk in flip flops when my life allows and it creates a constant distraction to my senses. Relaxing. I can’t help but groove along when I go places and do things; ignoring all surrounding drama. Sometimes I hum to their snare and tom combination. It’s how I relax after a day in my office; I get a coffee and walk. It’s my personal rhythm section. There are flip-flop usage limits. I’d never wear them to a club, but a club has its own use and its own rhythm section. Jerry likes the club.
We love repetitions. We seek our own rhythm compelling us into comfort. Rhythms drive us into many things in our life from tapping our foot to tympani drums in a great piece to outright spastic fluctuations on the dance floor to EDM house music. Just like Jerry, whose out on the club floor now, letting go after a busy week at the office. We go, and I watch from a table. I don’t need this like he does. His personal rhythm is one for the masses. Shared by all who pack this popular waterfront warehouse on Friday nights. Jerry closes his eyes and lets bass pressure wash over his body. Boom. Boom. Boomboomboomboom . . .
Elbows draw enormous arcs. Feet flap in the air and his head dives forward and back causing his wholly random body movement to nearly bounce across the warehouse floor. Boom. Boom. Colors flash through closed eyelids, each triggering another action, and another and another until the next track of music gives him a brief pause to rest. ‘Hurricane’ Jerry becomes Sweaty and sore. This dancehall Moses has parted the sea of people. The dancing crowd keeps its distance out of shock and awe and mostly real fear of injury.
Never was there a dance that could so perfectly ward off potential mates. Anti-peacocking, if you will. Invented by Jerry from accounting who desperately needs this moment.
One of the simple pleasures I had regarded my flip flops. After a solid day of training in the new job, I had to wear them and mellow out from the business casual collared shirt and khaki attire. Walking down halls brought that repetition and calmed me. I didn’t write much while there but I did write this and one other, much darker piece I’ll prepare and post later. Enjoy.