Disparate Thoughts

Gregor lives in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Ipswich. Every morning, he drinks a cup of tea on his back patio while working on a logic puzzle in a puzzle book. Sudoku is his favorite, but he enjoys just about any puzzle. Sometimes, he just sits and watches the bird at his feeder a few meters away. This is how he starts every day.

Gregor used to work down at the docks in cargo shipments. He made a decent living doing that, but he hated the near-constant noise and the relatively fast-paced work environment. As soon as he was able, Gregor semi-retired from that gig, instead opting to work part time at a bookshop downtown called Ferry Lane Books. While it’s a significant pay cut, he finds far more pleasure in the new, slow-paced life he’s come to enjoy.

Most of the time, he doesn’t need to go into the bookshop until late morning, on the days he even works in the first place. His drive there isn’t too long at all, but on the way he listens to audio books. He’s particularly keen on non-fiction histories and mystery novels, but he enjoys just about any kind of story.

On one particular rainy afternoon, Gregor is helping a customer reach a book up high on one of the shelves. The Marshallite Games, a rather unpopular novella he didn’t even know existed. In the distance, he hears a very faint and unfamiliar noise. At first, it sounds like carnival music. Then, it abruptly morphs into some electronic sounds with a chest-thumping bass. 

“What on Earth is that?” Gregor wonders.

The customer he’s helping just looks at him and shrugs. The sound grows marginally louder, but it isn’t overwhelming. Gregor chooses to ignore it, finally reaching the book and handing it off to the customer. Within a couple minutes, the sound changes again to a classical piano piece. Gregor can’t quite make out which one it is, as the sound gradually fades out to silence. He quickly forgets about the incident as he completes his shift at the bookshop and heads back home.

On the way home, Gregor stops to grab a curry from the shop for dinner. 

The next day, Gregor has a day off from the bookshop. He spends his morning like he spends every morning: sitting on his back patio with a cup of tea, listening to the birds, working on a logic puzzle. It’s a rare, beautiful day. He takes advantage of this and decides to work on his garden.

Gregor is pulling weeds in his potted plants when he hears a sound from over the fence.

“Oy, Greg!” Harry shouts, startling Gregor.

“Harry, how’re ya?” Gregor stands up and walks to the fence line. Harry and Gregor have lived next to each other for nearly twelve years now. Most of the conversations they’ve ever had in that time have been over this fence. Harry loves to gossip, much more than Gregor does. Gregor still enjoys the conversation though, so he humors him.

“Well, you heard about Liz, I trust,” Harry shoots back.

“No, don’t think I have.”

“It’s a shame, really. It wasn’t her time.”

“Oh? So is she…”

“Well, you know, at thirty seven too…”

Gregor pauses a moment, staring at Harry.

Finally, Harry breaks the silence. “And it’s terrible too. If you’re going to get your first tattoo this late in the game, at least be creative with it. I mean, a butterfly? So uninspired.”

“Ah the audacity.” Gregor can’t help but chuckle softly to himself.

“Oh! And there’s a carnival in town wouldn’t you know,” Harry exclaims.

“A carnival? Where did you hear that?”

“Well I heard the music yesterday. Was pretty loud so it must be close by.”

“Huh. A carnival. How odd.”

“You know, back in…oh was it 2011? Yeah must have been. Anyway Catalina and I were up at the carnival in Norwich back in 2011 and there was, and I’m not pulling your leg, an honest-to-god fist fight. Broke out right in front of us! A real brawl. Bobbies had to get involved and all.”

“You know, I heard that carnival music yesterday too, down from Ferry Lane,” Gregor says, ignoring Harry’s rambling story.

“Oh yeah, Bradley, uhh, over at 707 heard it clear down by the docks too. It’s all over town. I’m just not sure I’m cut out for another carnival is all.”

Gregor thinks to himself for a minute. “A carnival could be fun, haven’t been to one in years.”

“Well, just be careful now. Watch for fists!” Harry cackles. “Anyway Greg, I’m running late for lunch with Curt. I’ll be seeing ya.”

Only Harry calls Gregor “Greg”. It drives him a little crazy, but he’s learned to deal with Harry and his quirks. “Have a good one!” Gregor calls back. 

With that, he turns back to look at his garden. With a brief sigh, he kneels back down at his biggest flower pot to continue pulling weeds from the soil.

On the following Saturday, Gregor is at Ferry Lane Books. Saturdays tend to be their busiest days. Many folks spend their day off wandering around downtown, and many inevitably stop by the bookshop to browse. As such, Gregor is working through a short line of customers checking out with their selections.

“Oh, I loved The Wicked Three,” Gregor chit-chats with a customer as he scans through a small stack of books. “Hans-Veugins is an extraordinary author. If you end up liking this one, be sure to come back, and I can give you some more recommendations.”

“Oh great, thank you!” the customer responds. 

“Alright, that’ll be twenty eight pounds seventy seven,” Gregor chimes as he sets the last book into a small paper bag. Before the customer can answer, a heart-vibrating thud shakes the entire shop. It’s shortly followed by another, and then another. It feels like a giant is closing in. 

“What now?” 

Gregor looks out the window to find the source of the noise. The thudding grows louder. Faintly, electronic music is heard in the distance. It slowly grows louder. Suddenly, the music switches to a tropical motif that features a ukulele. It strums ever louder until a large, white box truck drives by the shop. The racket emanates from the truck. As it continues past, the sound gradually softens.

“Are they promoting the carnival?” Gregor asks the small gaggle of customers also peering out the window.

“Is there a carnival in town? I hadn’t heard anything of it,” one guy says. The noise continues to fade, when the song changes again to an upbeat party mix. 

“It’s really quite loud,” another says.

Gregor shakes his head and turns back to the counter as the music fades entirely.

At the end of the day, Gregor moves around to all the plants in the shop, watering them one by one. Most of these plants were his additions to the space. It’s an update he is quite proud of, believing it really adds to the atmosphere in the small bookshop. Finally, he locks up the shop and makes his way home. 

On the way, he stops for another curry. 

Several weeks later, Gregor is out at dinner at a local pub just down the road from his place. He doesn’t consider himself a regular, but this is still one of his favorite spots. 

“Cheers, thanks,” Gregor says to the waiter as he drops off his pint.

“No problem, flag me down if you need something. Food out in a few.”

Gregor sips from his beer when he hears a faint rendition of The Entertainer. For a second, he looks around the pub to see if there is a live band tonight, before he realizes the true source. Sure enough, like clockwork, the song gradually grows louder. It switches to a futuristic soundscape. His hand clenches harder around his drink.

Gregor glances around the pub at the other patrons. Some of them seem to notice the noise, while others appear to ignore it completely. He envies those ignoring it. As he scans, he notices a constable sitting at the table next to him.

“This thing’s loud, eh?” Gregor quips.

The constable lets out a small laugh, then dejectedly says, “Oy. Yeah.” The noise grows.

“It’s been every day lately.” Gregor shakes his head. “I can hardly stand it.”

“Oh believe me, we tried to stop it. It’s all above board though.”

“Above board?” Gregor asks. “No noise ordinances?”

“Oh no. We’ve tried. Not much we can do, sadly.” The constable eats a chip and shakes her head.

“Christ.”

“Yeah.”

The noise transitions to a polka as it fades back to quiet. The constable gets up from her table. “Well, cheers. Enjoy the quiet while you can,” she says. 

“Yeah cheers, you as well.” Gregor nods back.

A few minutes later, Gregor is working through his curry in front of him when the noise suddenly returns again, jolting him. He looks down at his curry sloshed across the table. He throws his head into his hands while carnival music jingles outside.

Gregor sits on his back patio, sipping on his tea, and working on his puzzle. A pair of ear plugs sits on the table next to his coaster. It’s an overcast day, but the temperature is nearly perfect. He glances up across his small yard. All his flowers and plants are thriving, and his bird feeder is full. But the birds aren’t showing up like they usually do. In fact, it’s been at least a couple weeks since he’s seen any birds at his feeder. 

“Oy, Greg!” Harry shouts, jolting Gregor.

“Harry! How’re ya?” 

“Oh you know. Hey, you hear about Randy?”

“Randy from 824?”

“The very one!”

“What’s he on about?”

“Well Curt and Randy were at Pink Pig Pub when some bloke — couldn’t have been older than 25, though I suppose he could’ve been — anyway some bloke comes up to Randy and says, he says ‘Peter, is that you?’ And of course, Randy says ‘the very same.’ You know how Randy is.”

“Sure enough,” Gregor smirks, trying to follow along.

“So anyway, Randy says ‘the very same’, and this bloke says, ‘it’s me, it’s Elijah! Remember, from uni?’ Christ he must be older than 25, yeah? So then Randy says, ‘yeah yeah Elijah! How’re ya?’ And the bloke, err, Elijah I suppose, says ‘it’s been too long!’ And Randy responds with, ‘yeah yeah it’s good to see ya though.’”

Harry pauses.

“And..?” Gregor prompts.

“And? That’s it. Randy is tricky, that one. You gotta keep an eye on him.”

“Ah yeah, okay then,” Gregor mutters. Must be a slow week. 

From well beyond the fence line, a familiar waltz plays in the distance. 

“Christ this lorry!” Harry exclaims. 

“I can’t stand the bloody thing,” Gregor seethes.

“Ya know, Catalina said she saw the thing pulling into a garage just off Thornbridge down here a few days back.”

“Thornbridge, really?”

“Yeah, you know the old run-down car shop on Thornbridge?”

“Ahh yeah I know the one.” 

“Yeah the very one. To think, nuisance to the whole town and it’s just down the road here.”

“Yeah to think…” Gregor trails off, losing his concentration to the amplifying sound. 

“Well, I’ll be leaving ya then, Greg. Got the old bowling league with Elaine and Bradley,” Harry yells over the sound.

“Yeah, good luck then.”

Harry turns and heads back into his house. Just as Gregor is about to do the same, the sound fades and stops. He takes a deep breath and returns to his tea and his puzzle, taking in the renewed silence. 

Gregor finishes his puzzle. He looks up at his flowers and his bird feeder, sipping his last bit of tea.

BUM BUM BUM BA DA BUM BUM

Gregor jolts as the noise pierces the silence, seemingly right in front of his house. His tea cup flies from his hand and shatters on the patio brick. He sits for a moment in pure shock, watching his tea cup fragments lay strewn across the ground.

“Right. I’ll take care of this.”

He isn’t talking about the tea cup.

It’s one in the morning. Ipswich is blanketed in silence. Gregor rummages through his shed with a small flashlight in his mouth. He’s looking for something he hasn’t touched since he retired from the docks. He finds it. His plasma cutters.

He silently walks down the road of his neighborhood, away from his home, hauling the hardware. He turns onto Thornbridge. There isn’t a soul or a set of headlights in sight. He makes it to his destination: the old, run-down car shop.

Glancing around, he breaks the lock on the garage door and slides inside. And there it is, right in front of him. A plain, white box truck sitting eerily in the silence. Suddenly, Gregor’s heart starts to race. He thinks about his quiet mornings on his back patio, and he thinks about his peaceful job at Ferry Lane Books. Every otherwise enjoyable moment over the past two months was ruined. By this goddamned truck. Gregor notices his teeth are clenching and his hands are shaking.

He takes his plasma cutters and starts hacking away at the truck as fast as he can. He takes big slices down the sides of the vehicle, cutting across the metal skin in long gashes. There isn’t any rhyme or reason to his cuts. Both sides of the truck, the cab, the wheels, nothing is safe.

Sparks fly off the metal, bouncing off of Gregor’s face and the concrete floor. The sound of the cutter pierces the thin and silent air. From inside the garage, the chaotic, metallic frenzy ensues.

Soon, the peaceful silence outside the garage is filled with sirens, and the night sky is lit up with flashing lights. A moment later, the garage door flies open, sending a flood of light inside.

“Sir, put down the cutters and step away from the lorry!” an officer shouts from the opening. 

Immediately, Gregor drops his plasma cutters and stumbles back from the truck. He takes one last glance at his vengeful work, though tears blur his vision and make his eyes sting.

Gregor is whisked away in a car, handcuffed in the back seat. The next thing he remembers, he’s sitting at the police station in an interrogation room. A constable and an inspector sit across the table from him. You could hear a pin drop in this room. Music to his ears.

“So, what happened tonight?” The inspector breaks the silence.

Gregor thinks for a moment. “I’m really not sure, sir.”

“We caught you breaking into private property with plasma cutters, slicing through a lorry. I have photos of the damage.” The inspector tosses a handful of photos onto the table in front of Gregor. He glances down at them.

“It looked like you were trying to cut it in half.” The constable chimes in. The inspector shoots him a brief glare.

“Well, err, the loud music, the tru—err, the—”

“We’re well aware of this vehicle, Gregor.” The inspector retorts.

Another brief silence fills the room. 

“So, you grab some plasma cutters and break into the garage. What exactly was your plan here?” The inspector asks.

Gregor takes a moment. He looks at the constable, and he looks at the inspector. He can see bags under their eyes. They must be tired. He is too. He thinks about Ferry Lane Books. He thinks about Harry. He thinks about his birds, and his logic puzzles, and his tea. 

Finally, with a sigh, he looks back at the inspector and opens his mouth to explain.

“Well, to make a song lorry short…”