The Neighbor's Dog is staring at my through my open window. It was one of those hairy dog breeds. Its fur is matted down with grease which leads me to wonder how much the owners actually care for this dog. As far as I know the owners never walked the dog. It was usually just chained down in the middle of the yard right next to its house but once in a while the owners would chain it down closer to the gate to allow the dog to move in and out of the railings. It looked so happy when that happens. Maybe it was better than being chained in the middle of the yard.
An illusion of freedom, I think to myself.
I remember, when I was 12 my father gave me a pet goldfish. I named it Fish. Fish's permanent residence is a small glass bowl filled with water to about two inches from the brim, filled quarter ways through with pebbles and embellished with a small artificial plant. Fish was hatched in a glass tank, matured in a pet shop aquarium adorned with ominous lights, until finally he got picked to be a present for some whiny 6th grader who originally wanted a cat but her parents figured that a goldfish would be an adequate substitute. Well, my point here (however unclear I have delivered it) is that Fish had never seen anything but the glass tanks he's been put in so when my father built him a miniature pond, he seemed happy as can be- because he's never known anything better.
Oh, and by the way this is what the salary of a researcher in an underfunded university research unit can get for an apartment in this economy. A bachelor's pad in the first floor of an apartment building the middle of the city, constantly plagued by the roaring sound of cars and the envy of the neighbor's beautiful house and front yard which is directly adjacent to my only window. But hey, it's better than living in your hyper-religious parents' basement. I guess we are never really free- we just find ourselves in bigger prisons.
This small apartment is the symbol of my independence. An illusion of independence.
