Sixty-four-point-zero
I was walking the dog down Wrightsville Avenue, the cozy part with the one way street and almost all the intersecting roads leading to Wallace Park. I was noting things along the way and thinking about how well I know the neighborhood after living here for over two years. I recognized people and cars of people I don’t know personally doing the things I expect them to be doing at this hour on this day of the week. I looked at the clock to see how long until the girl ran by between 5:20 and 5:40 in the morning. I have no relationship with this girl and don’t know who she is. I don’t really care to. She’s just the timer by which the neighborhood resets istelf leading into every dawn. Sometimes when I see her because I’m still awake while drunkenly smoking cigarettes on my front porch I feel like I’m in Groundhog Day and instead of “I Got You Babe” on the radio I get the same girl jogging with her dog every morning at the same time.
I noticed someone walking along Wrightsville when I turned onto it. They were behind me and the dog. I did not recognize the man. He seemed to be in his late 40s or early 50s with scant facial hair. A milk chocolate colored black man of short build wearing a loudly colored raincoat. The dog paid him no mind and neither did I. We walked on.
I heard his steps become more rapid and a sound like someone packing their cigarettes in a hard pack. The packing sound was rhythmic and the cadence of his footsteps constantly escalating. Still, there was no aggressive nature in the sounds so the dog and I continued to pay him no mind. Should aggression come forth I always carry a knife and I was walking a rottweiler. The dog stopped to pee at the corner of Wolcott. A dog in a yard across the street began barking at her. She paid it no mind. I stood their holding a leash and a coffee cup half full of Mountain Dew and vodka in one hand and a bag of dog shit in the other. Neither filled up to quickly if that’s what you’re thinking. The cup became a lot more empty after my encounter
“Sixty-four-point-zero! That’s right, sixty-four-point-zero,” the man came into view across the street. Not entirely across the street but as much so as one can be without stepping onto the sidewalk.
“What?”
“Sixty-four-point-zero! Sixty-four-point-zero on the Richter scale! Who can stop that?”
“I don’t know.”
The dog across the street continued to bark. My dog continued to piss and pay no mind.
“Nobody, that’s who. Not even the Green Berets! It’s coming. I talked to Jesus Christ earlier today and he said it’s coming and nobody can stop it. It’s gonna come right up there, right up there about 30th and Market. Next to William [unintelligible due to the dog across the street barking. Possibly Burns] office! He was my attorney the year I graduated high school. You know what they used to call him? Shoot Em Up Bill, haha. Sixty-four-point-zero, you know that?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Sixty-four-point-zero on the Richter scale and that’s where it’s coming! Jesus Christ is gonna come stop Planet X and then the whole world will perish away. You know what my name is? Disco Dave. The original, not the drug dealer up the way. That’s just a demo. Sixty-four-point-zero, I’m telling you it’s gonna happen!”
Disco Dave began to walk away and then thought better of it.
“Disco Dave! The original!”
“Have a good night.”
He began to walk away again while shouting “Bye!” repeatedly. I answered once but gave up after that. By the sixth I was halfway up the block.
