Friday, July 3, 2020

The screen door slams as I leave my apartment for the afternoon. The top of it sweeps through the leaves of the tree above me. Something falls from a branch onto my shoulder. I feel it skitter up my neck, along my jawline, across my mask, over my closed eye, and into my hair. Simultaneous thoughts: 1: I didn’t know cockroaches could climb trees. 2: They climb walls, so why not? 3: Its trajectory across my face is at the same angle as the lines on David Bowie’s face on the cover of Aladdin Sane. I brush my hand through my hair. The cockroach falls to the ground. We stare at each other, stunned, for a moment. It runs off across the patio. A cat watches it go past. It doesn’t pounce on it. Last night, I saw a group of roaches gather on my steps. I rarely see more than one at a time. They may have been having a war council to plot their strategy for the summer. It’s getting hotter again. I’m told that they need to find water to survive. I don’t bear any grudge against them, but I don’t feel moved to put a bowl out. They’ve been here longer than we have. They’ll be here after we’ve gone.