Sinset

The word is deliberately misspelled. Much like the actual word “misspelled.” An excess of letters to convey meaning. I’ve been rightly accused of the same, using purple prose and needless words to convey stories. To which I often reply that only criticism from avid readers and writers speaks to me. The TL;DR crowd is not my tribe. If you’re unfamiliar with that acronym, you’ll be disappointed. The explanation is ironically long. Yes, I realized I committed the same sin Alanis Morissette did in her trademark song by phrasing it that way. I’m being self-indulgent with my jokes. That some people don’t understand that they’re jokes is an inside joke in itself.

As for the title of this post, Sinset, It’s a word I coined to convey the likelihood of misbehavior once the sun sinks below the horizon.

A lot of people wait for the dark to commence their personal bacchanalias. Most of these people control their hidden impulses during the day. They meet their obligations, go to work, and avoid gluttony of all kinds. But when dusk is upon them, they fling open the fridge and eat all of the things. They pour a shot of whiskey and then foolishly open up their web browsers or apps and become internet warriors or guilt-ridden OnlyFans patrons. Night  tends to peel away the mask for some.

Thankfully, the next morning arrives. An almost clean slate except for the shadows of the consequences of the previous day’s choices.

Last night, Erika and I heard the onset of what seemed to be a large private fireworks display. We went outside and sat on the deck, the porch light for once temporarily extinguished. Though the trees blocked some of the beautiful array of colors, it was beautiful. The booms echoed relentlessly against the barrier of our l-shaped apartment. We were surprised when we noted that none of the resident’s dogs sang the song of their people against the cacophonous and relentless explosions. It was a large fireworks display that emanated somewhere near the beautiful new houses nestled against the protection of the railroad tracks running parallel to Gregg Street. This morning, because curiosity overwhelmed me, I drove through to see if the remains of the display were still there. They were. A series of carefully placed fireworks boxes still remained on the dead-end street. Someone spent a fortune to provide onlookers with a temporary spectacle. Though people with animals cringe with such displays, for me, it was a beautiful surprise, one up close and personal without the need for travel or discomfort.

Love, X