+ lauraTitian +

So, i guess this will be "that"::

You are up until 3 am most nights.
You're drinking. Just some Jameson's. Just a juice-sized glass of the whiskey with some water and an ice cube from the near empty freezer. Just enough to put you to sleep when you finally do succumb to the sheets which you're saving for nearly last to pack.

You're up late unscrewing screws, disassembling furniture. Drilling in reverse, deconstructing what was only construced a few months ago. You push in hard on the Phillips drill bit. The harder you push in, the easier they pull out. Aha!
How many screws were needed to keep all of this together? How many more were actually used?

You have removed about 45 screws so far. Your fingertips are tender and rubbing off and you have given up on saving screws for a later date. You begin throwing them halfway across the room into the slouching lawn-grade trash bag which is filling up on the naked wooden floor.

You are moving tomorrow. The Beatles' "Don't Let Me Down" plays.

You are moving from this street, which is especially quiet tonight, as it is nearly 3am. No car alarms, even. No people screeching, or hollering, which you occasionally do hear and it startles you, until you realize it's laughter, except for the one time when a woman was mugged across the street on the night before Thanksgiving.

The moon is a bright, silvery sliver with smoke around it. It's a slice that is more like a toenail. When you think of that, of the toenail sliver, you think that's kind of gross.

And you think you're smart. How clever you are, you even tell your friends, to have hired 3 moving men to come pack your boxes onto their truck on the morning of Super Bowl Sunday. "They get paid by the hour" you explain. And who wouldn't be motivated to move quickly on the morning of Super Bowl Sunday? Quickly, yet gingerly, with your things. They don't want to miss Kick Off.
You picture them picturing themselves after the move, sitting on the floor at their buddies' house gathered in front of Ronny's big screen TV. They swig bottle necked beer.

And come tomorrow morning, right here in in your living room, they will break a sweat, even though it's winter. And you will be happy that their swiftness is saving you money, while you worry that they're not wearing those back-brace things. They will say they don't need them, they lift with thier legs.
Then you will realize, after some kidding aroud, that they don't know. They don't know about the Super Bowl today, or its Kick Off, or the commercials, or Arrowsmith, or Britney. Not only that, they do not know that their very local football team is playing in this Super Bowl. Nor do they care. They are just moving, quickly, because it's their job to move quickly, yet gingerly, with your stuff.