It’s about 3 AM and I half wake up to murmurings outside my window, which considering where I live isn’t anything strange. I’ve heard fights, puking, promises of hard sex, breaking glass, screeching tires, laughter, screaming, cars bumping other cars in sloppy attempts at parallel parking, and a whole slew of other things that make living here so fun.
But right now is different. It’s unnaturally still out. Even my asshole upstairs neighbor who likes to listen to Metallica at this hour is mum.
The murmurings are rising and falling, and they’ve got a phlegmatic hue that makes my gag reflex activate (my only weakness, mucous-based sounds and sights). The cadence tells me that words are being spoken, and it’s clearly a monologue as it keeps on going and I can just feel that there is only one person (?) out there. Like the atmosphere isn’t impacted enough for two people. You know what I mean, like when you walk into a room and you can tell that someone is there? Not for any reason other than you can feel it in the air, as if the molecules are pressed together a little too tight for just you to be there.
Anyhoo, I can’t make out the words but the sounds are accented in a way that makes me think it’s French. Not that I can tell if it’s a language at all, but the syllables are hitting in ways that just feel French.
So apparently I have some sort of phlegmatic, French-speaking demon outside of my window. There was no way I was going to look, so I just stayed in bed wondering if it was going to sense, in the way that I did, that I was alert and aware of whatever incantation was happening outside my window.
And that made me casually realize that the sad little chain on my door that is supposed to make me feel secure wasn’t going to stop anyone, or anything, from getting in here if it, they, s/he wanted to.
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