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roachboy · 11-20-2008, 05:20 AM

second floor of a warehouse by the docks, near the word harbor

Humberto the Midget turns off the tiny black and white television on his desk. As he does every time, Humberto plays with the tin foil on the rabbit ears. I do not understand why Humberto adjusts the antenna when the television is off. I think he sees it as a sculpture.

There are many things I do not understand about Humberto the Midget. He likes detective programs. In Humberto's mind, I imagine a black-and-white world in which the rain that always falls and the static of the bad television reception blur into each other.

I see Humberto at his tiny desk in his tiny cluttered office through the doorway. Next to me is a bank of twelve video monitors that glow blue with images of the empty warehouse downstairs.

Humberto is dressed as he always is, like a police man. Every hour, he turns off the television, plays with the tinfoil balled up on the rabbit ears, moves out from behind his desk, picks up his cell phone and his billy club and goes out to make his rounds downstairs.
I watch him move through the various quadrants of the empty warehouse on my monitors.

The owners of the warehouse are obsessed with security. Many people are these days. I sometimes think that they imagine an adequate security system will conjure things that are stored in the warehouse, rent that is paid to them, activity: trucks coming in, forklifts moving about. But that has not happened. Week after week, that has not happened. Month after month.

Sometimes I think my job is to watch Humberto and his job is to watch me. When he does his rounds, I watch him watching the warehouse.

We don't have much to say to each other, Humberto and I. There is little difference between watching him on my monitors move around downstairs and watching him watch his detective shows on television through the doorway.

I watch the top of Humberto's head move across quadrant 2 of the warehouse. I look up at the bank of recording devices to make sure that they are recording. I wonder who watches the films.

The top of Humberto's head tracks diagonally across sector 7. His bald spot looks like the top of a little white ball. Sometimes I sing along, following the bouncing white ball.

11-20-2008, 05:20 AM	#5 (permalink)
roachboy Super Moderator Location: essex ma	second floor of a warehouse by the docks, near the word harbor Humberto the Midget turns off the tiny black and white television on his desk. As he does every time, Humberto plays with the tin foil on the rabbit ears. I do not understand why Humberto adjusts the antenna when the television is off. I think he sees it as a sculpture. There are many things I do not understand about Humberto the Midget. He likes detective programs. In Humberto's mind, I imagine a black-and-white world in which the rain that always falls and the static of the bad television reception blur into each other. I see Humberto at his tiny desk in his tiny cluttered office through the doorway. Next to me is a bank of twelve video monitors that glow blue with images of the empty warehouse downstairs. Humberto is dressed as he always is, like a police man. Every hour, he turns off the television, plays with the tinfoil balled up on the rabbit ears, moves out from behind his desk, picks up his cell phone and his billy club and goes out to make his rounds downstairs. I watch him move through the various quadrants of the empty warehouse on my monitors. The owners of the warehouse are obsessed with security. Many people are these days. I sometimes think that they imagine an adequate security system will conjure things that are stored in the warehouse, rent that is paid to them, activity: trucks coming in, forklifts moving about. But that has not happened. Week after week, that has not happened. Month after month. Sometimes I think my job is to watch Humberto and his job is to watch me. When he does his rounds, I watch him watching the warehouse. We don't have much to say to each other, Humberto and I. There is little difference between watching him on my monitors move around downstairs and watching him watch his detective shows on television through the doorway. I watch the top of Humberto's head move across quadrant 2 of the warehouse. I look up at the bank of recording devices to make sure that they are recording. I wonder who watches the films. The top of Humberto's head tracks diagonally across sector 7. His bald spot looks like the top of a little white ball. Sometimes I sing along, following the bouncing white ball. __________________ a gramophone its corrugated trumpet silver handle spinning dog. such faithfulness it hear it make you sick. -kamau brathwaite Last edited by roachboy; 11-20-2008 at 05:22 AM..