Two Unexpected Visitors

This morning I was sitting peacefully in my bed, where I work, and I heard an interesting sound out on my balcony. I started to ignore it, since there has been some remodeling going on in other apartments, so I thought it was just some more of that. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a black-gloved hand gripping the railing of my outside balcony, and then a helmeted head pushed its way, with a large male body attached, up over the railing. Clunk, went his boots as he landed on my balcony, and with climbing gear and ropes clattering and dragging behind him, he came my way.

Uh. Clothes on? Check. Teeth brushed? Not for days. Can he see me in here? Probably, but he has other things on his mind.

Tap, tap tap went his hammer...on the concrete sections of the railing, and on the outside wall above my head. I heard a mild smashing sound. He bent over the rail and yelled to someone below. Then, he was gone.

My cat, who had been sleeping inside her carrier that sits on top of the piano, must have gotten a full-on view of the intergalactic alien hammer wielder muscle man building climber guy as his hands, head, and then body popped up right in the French doors, in front of which she was, until that moment, snoozing. I was too wrapped up in checking my hygiene (and hair) to notice her, but a few minutes after the guy left, I saw her making her slooooooowwwww way over to the bed to eventually hide under my legs in her favorite place which I call "The Tent." It took her at least a half century, maybe two. One paw slowly pushed forward, her belly fat fur dusting the floor as the next paw moved, an inch every 3 minutes, and then her back paws followed. Her eyes were glued to my thighs as I moved my knees up to make way for Mao The Tent Girl. In she went, but by now I had sprouted three more thick gray hairs from that freaking mole on my chin, and I had had a few more birthdays.

Later, when the coast was clear, Mao and I both went out to investigate, and we smiled at each other that her plastic container of valuable cat grass had not been stolen by the big bad man. There was, however, a large chunk of the concrete railing that was gone. I sure hope one of the old ladies I was talking about in my last post didn't happen to be shuffling by at the wrong time. Of course, what a way to go, with a chunk of concrete flying down from the roof top, pummeling you into the sidewalk. Nice.

While outside, I took a peek over the railing at the church across the way. The same one I referenced in my post yesterday. And there, sitting in one of those brown oak chairs that you see in French cafes, in the middle of the sidewalk, was an artist making a drawing of the front of the church. Now, this church has got to be one of the ugliest post-modern, Dachau-red brick 60's industrial depressing architectural wonders of the neighborhood. And even though they must have put a new, dingy concrete facade on it in about 1973, it just made it even uglier. So, what in the heck was he drawing?

Inside, the church is actually pretty cool. And when the old priest is there, a tall friendly guy, he leaves the front doors open and you can gaze all the way inside to the altar. So maybe the artist was drawing the interior. I suppose I'll have to actually get out of bed, brush my teeth, and go down there and stoop down and see if I can look through the eyes of the artist, and try to find the beauty that held him there for many cold and damp moments this afternoon.

I will also look out for flying concrete objects, and men in ropes and chains.