I left my apartment the other day and turned left into the alley out back to go to my car, (which is just outside my place, and I could use the back door to get to my car, but I like to keep the back door locked with that latch thing-y.) when I overhear an argument.
A couple in their early 40’s, (man and woman) is sitting on the ground, next to the dumpster, reading an Us Weekly. I should mention, this couple lives in, on and around the dumpster. They’re my new neighbors. A lovely couple, leathery and most likely junkies or crack-heads.
Woman: Yes, it is!
Man: Nah…that ain’t her. This chick is fat. She has sexy, long, legs.
Woman: She used to. That’s her now.
Man: It couldn’t be. She was in that sexy movie!
Woman: That movie was twenty years ago.
Man: No. No. No. It was like five years ago. I don’t remember the ’80’s, so I know her movie wasn’t back then.
Woman: It’s Sharon Stone!
Man: No. It. Isn’t. Sharon Stone is not fat.
Woman: Sharon Stone got fat! Ahh! Look! It says right here. Oooh are you busted! Right under the picture. Read it. What does that say?
Man: [reading] Sharon. Stone. (pause) Well, whaddya know? Shit. (screaming) NO! NO! They just touched up the picture. Why do you read these magazines! It’s negative crap so people feel bad about themselves.
Woman: I don’t feel bad about myself. I feel bad for Sharon Stone because she’s fat!
By now, I’m one foot away from these people, unlocking my car door. The woman grabs the magazine from her husband and tries to hide it from me. She whispers to her husband, “Sssh. Not in front of…you know.”
He goes along with it. “Fine. Fine. Fine. We weren’t just yelling at each other.”
Neither of them has made eye contact with me. But this is clearly to me, and for my sake.
I get into my car, baffled that they were not concerned with the fact that I might be put off by the fact that they eat my trash, and live under my car, but they so desperately wanted to keep up appearances as a healthy couple who does not go in for Hollywood trash like US Weekly. Come to think of it, I think that was my old copy of US Weekly.
I wanted to tell them, “You guys have nothing to be ashamed of. I used to write for the Fashion Police.” But instead I drove off.