Writers, by and large, are mildly crazy. We have voices in our heads. We see stories everywhere. We are affected by both. Case in point. After my shower, I was standing naked in the bathroom, combing out my hair. I heard a noise. I walked out of my bathroom to look down the stairs to see what I could see. Nothing but cats. Probably a cat making noise.

Back in the bathroom, this conversation ensued. It lasted all of 10 seconds. Maybe.

“You know, people in horror movies do stupid shit because they don’t know they’re in a horror movie. Like you just did… walking naked to the top of the stairs to investigate a strange noise.”

“Not in a horror movie.”

“Naked girls get killed first.”

“Not a girl. Not nubile. Not in a horror movie. I have 4 cats. They make noise.”

“The cat is always the ruse.”

I was starting to freak myself out. “Not. In. A. Horror. Movie.”

“That you know of.”

The strange sound of an unfamiliar truck* drives by in my quiet neighborhood. It is loud and weirdly menacing. Quick assessment. Garbage truck? No. Delivery truck? No. Neighbor’s truck? No. Assessment: possible danger.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. I’ll get dressed. I’m not going to die naked. Sneakers today, I think, too. Never know what you’ll need to run from.”

And thus, I quickly got dressed in jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers. Because, you never know when your life is going to shift from the everyman story into a horror story. I’m just lucky, this time, I didn’t have a conversation like this at midnight and need to sleep with the light on.


*Saw the offending truck later. It was one of those big dump trucks for leaves, branches, and tree trunks. Guess a neighbor is getting a tree cut down. It was empty, thus echoing and strange.