A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- story of a summer afternoon Funny to find myself in the dustbin again today. It is seven years since i met that other one. The one with whom my experience would teach me that the dustbin is about as high up as i should aspire, nor should i try to climb out. day totally unlike today, at least in terms of the weather. There had been rain sporadically throughout the first week of july, followed by spectacular dust storms that turned the city into a giant brown cloud, a tsunami of shifting earth pushed by violent winds The winds were calm that day, and against the afternoon sky, the thunderheads were piled up high and dense, with some of the ones in the rural outcroppings of the northside trailing tendrils visible from within the traffic-crowded city while there was no antipathy, i was not immediately struck by her as anything special, that would happen a couple of months later the strawberry blond hair, shoulder length and a tiny bit stringy, penchant for looking like a cuter approximation of an old-school stoner-chick in her Pink Floyd t-shirt (the marching hammers from The Wall), slightly bell-bottomed jeans, or maybe they were just a size or two too big, who knows, and her beat up black low-top Chuck Taylor All-Stars. I had been doing housework all day and was happy to brave the crosstown traffic to play chauffeur for my friend that afternoon. Of course, i hadn't gotten around to my laundry yet so i was looking fairly scroungy myself. Later, when we reached a point where we talked to each other more than anybody else, she told me that she had been a little afraid of the way i looked upon our first introduction. My old Lollapalooza t-shirt, a bandana given to me by the old wizard from the customer return section of the old factory, my black jeans and old combat boots. i remember being a little uncomfortable with how ardently they responded to each other as we made our way back across town to my house. Had it been a few years earlier and i a litte bit buzzed on some illicit substance, it wouldn't have bothered me, but it was right about then that i began to lose a tiny bit of patience and tolerance for people who can't be at least a little more private about that sort of thing if not all the persons in the room are digging the scene. Upon arrival they headed straight for one of the bedrooms, which prompted our other roommate to express some dislike for the situation and a wanting to step out and grab some food while they were making their noises. being over my discomfort and wanting to give the two their privacy, the other roomate and i hit a burrito joint and then killed a couple of hours at the mall, before remembering we needed groceries and stopping to shop on the way home, making sure to stock up on good beer, namely a fantastic honey-brown ale that Tiffiney had turned me onto about a year before. As the night drew to a close, she announced that she had to be at work fairly early that upcoming morning and should get home. As we dropped her off, my friend began an attempt to relay what they had been up to all evening at which point, though any interest i would have in her was several months away, i saw no other choice but to ask him to shut the fuck up. It was a pattern we would repeat for the majority of the time the weasely little bastard lived in my house. by the time i did fall for her, i hated him for it, but that's another set of long pointless stories for another stupidly reminiscent day 4:02 p.m. - 2003-07-12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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