snarl

I feel like I am a spring stretched so far I am about to snap. If I had a support system then I could snap, or fall, or melt down (pick the euphemism you prefer). Lacking that, though, such a melt down would be a disaster.

Walking Mabel this morning I stepped out of the way of a couple with their dog and child who had stopped directly in front of me. As I did so I heard a whispered snarled curse, and then who passed me on my left but a man who lives up the street in his immaculate brownstone. I often see him and his pale scared wife walking to church. He looks like a guy who is so tightly wrapped that he might just explode. All his church-going is obviously not imbuing his soul with love for his fellow man. He is usually muttering to himself, a grimace on his gray mustached face. I told "excuse me" politely as he passed by, but he did not acknowledge me, just kept on his way, cursing under his breath.

So I think I am better shape than him. This summer he has the brownstone replaced on his stoop, and he spent the whole time sitting watching the workmen. I imagine he was waiting for them to make a mistake. He does not seem to work. He sweeps his steps several times a day.