Conversations

If walls could talk? Not sure why people say that. Talkin' to you right now, pal. I'm part of a load bearing wall, myself. I mean, that's something, I guess. I don't know. I feel like I'm doing my part, but I just feel like sometimes if I fell out onto the floor, no one would notice, you know. Like everything would just go on being the same. It's not like that concrete fellow. I mean, if he goes, everything comes down. Word in the hallway is there's 25 floors to this place. I don't want to freak anyone out, but someone has to say the 'R' word. Rubble. That's what we're all afraid of here. I mean, it never happens, but you hear about it. Accidents, foul play, or we all just get a little worn out and the same people who put us in our place, man, they just jackhammer us down, pulverize us. Like we were never here. Nobody believes me, but I heard they take some of us and put us in some fancy gardens with some smooth talking pea gravel. That's the life, buddy. That's the life. I'd take that.

But word in the hallways is also that some get put in fireplaces, or worse. Can you imagine that? Can't fathom the hell that would be. I remember my birth from those flames. Unbearable heat. Never want to do that again. Or worse, thrown in a pit with a bunch of unformed clay. I mean, I don't want to sound soilist, I mean I know where I come from, but I don't want to go back there either. Got nothin against loam. I got loam friends, you know.

In fact, I got nothin against no one, except maybe those karate types. It's just that people pass us by every day without a thought in the world about what we do. We support them in every way. I mean, literally, you know? I hear about places where people climb on walls for fun. The whole family. Laughter. Good times. I don't know nothin' like that here. Although, there was once this little tyke that felt adventurous and got his little fingers in between us and was halfway up before his mother yanked him off. We're not good enough to climb on? I'm just sayin.

I shouldn't complain. Some of us got it worse. See that big, long timber fellow that runs the span of the ceiling? PTSD. Wakes up sometimes screaming middle of the night. Scares the crap out of everybody. Some days we hear stories about how old he is and how he use to meditate right out in the open near some lake or something like some guru. Lettin' animals run all over him and such. Sounds like he had a good life for a while. But then some guys in trucks come along with machines and... well, he don't like to talk about it. Every time the blender in the coffee shop starts grindin', the building shakes a little. He gets all jittery. I ain't saying he should be replaced or nothin', just we all gotta do our part, right?

And see that chick over there - don't turn and look at her. You'll hear about it. Glass wall, that one. I get interested in the coffee shop sometimes. Lotta movement over there. After not moving for so long, you kinda crave that vicarious existence, you know? Only in order to see it, you gotta look right through her. I ain't looking at her, I'm looking through her. But you can't tell her that. She's always making me feel like a pervert or somethin'. Says she feels all naked and exposed. We got into it the other day and I told her she's actually a liquid. That shut her up real quick. Like, I might be just another brick in the wall, and maybe a lot of people think we don't need no education, but I listen and I know things.