There should be a time and a place for everything – and playing the trumpet at dawn in front of my building isn’t taking either of those into consideration, Avery thought.
Then the fact that he was still in possession of a head hit him – hard. It was the kind of head that felt like it would be best of supporting a very minor part of the Great Wall of China, not the kind of head he enjoyed having growing from his neck on an early Saturday morning after far too many G&T’s the night before, especially being rudely awoken by a trumpet player that couldn’t have misjudged the suitability of his venue more than he was doing right now.
Groaning, Avery reached out to pull up the blinds keeping his bedroom pitch black, which, if it hadn’t been for the morning’s stereosonic entertainment, would have been sufficient to keep him dormant for a pivotal few hours more. Dragging himself onto the window ledge with his elbows, he caught his first glimpse of that Saturday’s first person to be subjected to his heartfelt hatred.
Naturally, the weirdo with a bowler hat standing right across the street was aiming his musical instrument of doom directly at Avery’s window. Moreover, the bastard appeared to be giving the performance of a lifetime, unperturbed by the incessant rain. Eyes fiercely shut and with a stance subtly betraying someone who takes great pleasure in getting an audience, the trumpeter was honking his horn as if there were no tomorrow.
Though by Avery’s standards it was far too early to get any sort of satisfaction from the performance directed at his bedroom window, a part of his mind couldn’t help but approve of the tune the mad hatter was obviously playing with a fair amount of skill. Still, his matter-of-fact appreciation only seemed to worsen his hangover, so he decided to give the guy one very determined finger.
At that very moment the trumpet-playing stranger held his breath. He lowered his instrument and opened his eyes, catching Avery’s hateful glance in an instance. The stare locked both men in space and time for a second or two, but as such things go it seemed so much longer. A grin broke out across the stranger’s handsome façade, and he tipped the edge of his bowler hat right before he broke contact and turned sideways. Once more he brought his trumpet back in position and took it from the top as he started walking down the rainy street, and eventually out of sight.
It took a lot longer than that for Avery to even shift position slightly, but the thought that this was obviously due to his brain only just starting up was clearly far more comfortable than considering the myriad of other possibilities that might have caused it. In any case, with eternal damnation hanging over everybody’s heads, perceptiveness was hardly the most rewarding of virtues to be shown.
Unfinished Bits 