Words from Dic(tionary)
Alley: (n) 1. a narrow passageway between or behind buildings. 2. a long, narrow area in which games such as bowling are played.
Alleys give me the heebie-jeebies.
Even during the daytime, when somebody tells me to go back in the alley to unload or pick something up, I find myself suddenly surrounded by trash cans and stray cats–neither of which I like, by the way.
Maybe it’s the feeling of confinement. I am certainly a little claustrophobic. (You can tell when a writer’s claustrophobic because he hates short sentences and opts for run-ons.)
Seriously, alleys are freaky.
- Is there any television mystery that does not start with cops discovering a dead body in an alley somewhere?
- Was anything ever invented in an alley?
- Did we discover the cure for a disease in an alley?
Matter of fact, it’s difficult to even use the word “alley” without adding the adjective, “back.”
I guess the only interesting thing about an alley is that since you can’t go too far frontwards and backwards, you’re always looking up.
I thought when I went bowling the first time, I could overcome my disdain for alleys by enjoying this fascinating game. But the reason they call it a bowling alley is that there is a narrow passage with danger at the end.
Case in point: my first bowling score was 52, which, as you may know, is very poor. And then I discovered that if I threw the ball down with wild abandon, with a crazy hook, somehow or another it would swing around and hit the head pin. This seemed to work for a couple of tosses, until I began to get a universal split, with two pins on each side, impossible to make.
So I peaked at 165, which is still what I say is my average when people ask me. I feel confident in misleading them because I have no intention of actually proving my prowess in front of them. For it’s been years since I’ve gone bowling.
The whole experience is similar to a back alley. You have the nasty process of sticking your feet in rented shoes that others have worn many times before you, having your inadequacy lit up above your head, as your failure in scoring pins is illuminated for all to see, and knowing that at the end of the experience of being in this alley, you will be humiliated and stripped of all your pride.
So I guess it is fair to say that I don’t like alleys.
(Matter of fact, I’m going to close now . I feel a little cramped and creepy.)