She’s
mighty annoyed, now, taking these deep heaving breaths and blowing up a storm.
Watching the refuse skitter down the street as she tips things over; a power
line came crashing through the window, startled me something awful. Calmed down
pretty quick, and she didn’t like that, but she couldn’t do more than rage.
Like
a storm assailing a stone. Seems pretty useless, in the end. I’m getting
stubborn in my old age, I suppose; little self-deprecating, to say that.
Homelessness, that ages you a good twenty years I suppose, so I’ve got all the
right in the world and no right at all to say things like that.
Now,
for hours, she just kept it up. Moving around, making the wind screech and blow
windows in, and the shadows were moving like they were restless. It was a
proper tantrum, let me tell you. I just sat, waited, stared out the broken
window.
Eventually
she calmed down, and that’s when I gave her what she wanted. Picked up the
laptop – reasoned that if no one had come back for it in so long, it was free
for the taking – and started tidying up the street a little. Set the overturned
trash cans back upright, grabbed the litter scattered all over the street.
Avoided the glass, it wouldn’t do to get a cut when there are no doctors in
sight.
Didn’t
take long, and soon, she looked as good as new. Pressed my ear to the ground,
and listened to her breathe. She was calm, now.
