Silence

I live in silence. My condo has no parties, my neighbors are quiet. Sometimes it is so quiet I play with zippers and call credit card customer service just to hear menus.
People who live out in the country must go slowly insane. I think that's what happened to J.D. Salinger over the years.
Last night I was alone in a coffee shop except for a guy sitting behind me who didn't make a peep. I hardly knew he was there as I wrote in my notebook. Maybe the glare from the top of my skull drove him into a trance.
There was mercifully no piped in music, no scrambling, giggling kids.I closed my eyes and thought about my legacy as a writer. Then I thought about chocolate as I remained in my quiet little bubble.It was so silent I prayed I wouldn't fart and have it heard by the teenage counter girls.

Silent Treatment

The NSA recently informed me by letter that evidence from their monitoring of my life strongly indicates I have completely run out of meaningful conversation.
I want to go on record here and aggressively refute their findings. Obviously I'm upset at being monitored, but I recognize this is the way things are now. But when they strongly recommend I stop speaking altogether because I'm unimaginative and boring, I really take umbrage.
My stories entertain, my vocabulary is far larger than most, I modulate my voice, I can do impressions of 40's actor like Lon Chaney Jr.. I feel I am an accomplished raconteur.
If any of my friends received a similar missive they are not sharing. And how do you define 'meaningful conversation'? I'm sure FDR had periods where he had nothing to say. Even Carol Channing and Larry King. Okay, maybe not Larry. It's not like I don't give others a chance to speak. Can I help it if I'm educated about a whole range of subjects those one dimensional suits in our government don't relate to?
It's an insult, like reporting I'm using too much toilet paper. I'm not, I swear.