Abigail
Part I
Part II
Almira
In Which She Receives a Phone Call
Kojiki
Something About The Other
Marcus
Part 1
Zoe
Part 1
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Something Else About The Other
The venue's loud, but not as crowded as I expected it to be. I pick up my ticket at the entrance kiosk and head up the stairs to the stage. Everyone's just standing around, talking about whatever; I don't really bother to listen. A petite waitress, her dark hair in a knot at her neck, come over and asks me if I want to order a drink. Normally, I think it's pointless to drink at a show- I prefer to actually remember what I saw the next morning- but I shrug and buy a beer from her for the hell of it. She leaves, and I notice that the room is starting to fill up. I take a cursory glance around, trying to eke out faces in the dim lights, wondering if I should move around or risk losing my spot right near the stage. Just then, she appears, a whirlwind of purple afro hair and spearmint gum eased into the air as she exhales.
"Oh fuck, Kiki, you have to check this out!"
She spins me around and directs me through the crowd. The final opening act is beginning to play. I try to focus on their sound- maybe i'll find something enjoyable in it- but it's the same old jangle and guitar that seems to infest every semi-rock band these days. I sigh.
"Okay, okay look at this." I look down at a small piece of paper in her hand. My eyes widen. Oh, I am easily amused.
"Hipster bingo," I qualify.
She bursts out laughing. I guess I'm in on the joke now.
"Yessss," she replies.
I examine the board more closely. All but a few of the boxes are checked off. "Wait- I thought you had to get one row to make bingo...?"
Adjusting her thick frames, bedazzled with multicolor rhinestones, she nods. "Yeah, but that was too easy, I mean, come on. It's a fucking Hold Steady show- they're the patron saints of the Brooklyn rock revival. Hipster heaven. I got Bingo before I even left the fucking lobby."
Can't front on that.
"So anyway, I need a hot Asian male and female. So help me finish."
I stare at her incredulously.
"What?"
"Fuck you."
"Kiki, what did I do?" she ruffles her bangs innocently.
Flinging my arms out at my sides, I shake my head at her pointedly. "Gee, a hot Asian male. What ever are the odds...?"
Understanding registers on her face. "Ohmygod, yeah! YOU!" She moves to mark it off. "But you're not really hipster-y. Hot Asian, sure, but not really Palestinian keffiyeh hipster."
"Ah, fair enough."
"Besides, you're half black. DQ'ed."
"Whaat? No way! If anything, that's a bonus- two minorities for the price of one."
Just then, a spiky haired, fairly tall Asian woman passes us. Milli nods in concession.
"Well played, sir, well played. Now let us enjoy the real show."
Milli threads me back through the crowd, as the opening strikes of The Swish play.
"BROOKLYN! WHAT'S UP?"
~
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Abigail - Part II
Abigail -
The elevator was being stupid, again. The stupid thing was never working when I tried to use it. It was a constant battle of the wills for me, most days I didn’t even try, simply took the stairs, but some days I had a hope it’d work for me, today wasn’t one of those days and somehow I doubted tomorrow would be one either. I wasn’t in the best mood when I came downstairs. I’d passed out again for who knows how long – three days, sixteen hours, twenty minutes and forty six seconds – and woke to find my answer machine over flowed with messages. And when I went searching for food I found my fridge bare save molded bread, mayo and Chinese food that I couldn’t even recall ordering.
This was not how I planned to spend my leave – my forced leave mind you. My stomach's rumbling is what led me to come downstairs. It was on a whim that I ended up checking my mail. I never got much mail but I’d been “away” for a long time.
Sighing I made my way down the final few steps pushing the old door open. Stepping into the lobby I looked around, the coast was clear. I hardly ever saw anyone else who lived in the building minus the landlady who came to collect rent every once and a while. Sometimes I wondered how she got the rent money when I was “away” but I didn’t ever remember leaving it for her.
Shuffling into the lobby I made my way to the bank of mailboxes. Digging the key out I jammed the key in the slot, twisted and pulled. My box was filled. Frowning at the level of mail I pulled it out. Flipping through it I found most of it to be junk catalogs, spam and a few letters from my employer. I stuck the junk back in and flipped though the letters from my employer sorting them out by postmarks. Three months of mail was not a pleasant thing. It was a wonder I wasn’t fired.
As I was sorting through mail the lobby doors jingled signaling someone coming in. Looking up to see who it was I was greeted by the sight of a vaguely attractive Asian boy walking in. I used the term boy because something about him screamed kid. He was a little taller than average, dark shaggy hair – the kind that makes me wish I had a comb to run through it -- and about average build. I gave him a quick once over then turned back to my mail. I wasn’t in a place in my life to be looking for any new kind of relationship. I mean how could I explain I was going to be “away” and didn’t know how long I’d be gone for, it wouldn’t be fair in any way.
Even if I was looking directly at him I felt him come up close to me and had to stop myself from backing away. It had been a long time since I’d been within touching distance of another person. However before I could move I saw him give a quick once over. The kind that teenage boys give girls they’re interested in but not really.
"You look like shit," where the first words out his mouth to me. I barely hid the flinch and glared at it him.
"You're an ass," I informed him, like I needed some uppity brat telling me I looked like shit, I knew exactly what I looked like.
"Yeah, well that's not new," he said to me smiling like it was funny oh how I longed to punch him.
"What the fuck do you want? Who the fuck are you?" I snapped before I could stop myself.
Today was really a crappy day, first the missing time, then the elevator, now the brat in front of me – and to think I thought he was cute at first, and now my temper was getting away from me.
The kid smirks and me and I list reasons not to punch him. "Well, according to my mailbox, and your mailbox, you live above me."
I glare because that tells me nothing. I don’t know any one in the building and have made no effort to find out who they are.
"And that tells me what exactly?"
“Isn't that a bit obvious?” He pauses like I’m supposed to know what goes on in his head,
“ That, we’re neighbors?” What I assume is supposed to be a statement comes out as a question which only makes me glare harder. Looking at the stack of main in my hands I wonder why the fuck did I decide now of all times to come get my mail.
“And that thud last week woke me up?" I look up at him again, that sounded vaguely concerned which had I been in a better mood would have been endearing only I wasn’t in a better mood and it only caused me to be more pissed off. The only thing that had come out of this conversation that was useful was now I had a time stamp for my black out. It was Monday.
"That’s nice, and your point?" I say tapping my foot impatiently. With my shoulder I nudge the mail box door closed.
"Well, being that we are neighbors, and whatever caused the thud that woke me up hours before I had to be at work is probably connected to the reason why you look like shit, and so I am inclined to ask if you are okay. Okay?”
Yup, he definitely could be endearing if I was in a better mood. I count up to the 20th digit of pi to keep from being rude but my definition of rude and others is slightly different.
"Do I look...no, no I'm not okay, I haven’t been okay for a very long time."
I wasn't looking at him, but I could feel the frown on his face as if he is waiting for me to say more but I don’t.
"Oh. Okay then," he says finally when he realizes I’m not going to say anything else.
I mean, I was trying to be nice, but I'm no miracle worker.
"Well, I'm gonna go now,” he says and turns and starts to walk away.
I call after him, “Have a nice day, bratty kid, you never did say what your name was.”
“Kiki”.
“Kiki, really now?” He stops and looks at me when I say that.
"Really." Now I'm grinning.
"Childhood must have been hell."
"No, it was fine. Everyone knows all Asians know karate," he replied nonchalantly.
I laugh "Ah yes, conform to the stereotypes, especially when it keeps the bullies away.”
“You have a good day...Abigail,” he laughs as he walks away.
"How the fucking hell...” I ask confused and on the verge of being pissy again.
"Read your mail. You should pay attention more,” he calls over his shoulder as he strolls away.
I humph at him glaring as he walked away. And as if some god was laughing at me when he pressed for the elevator the door pinged and opened.
The elevator was being stupid, again. The stupid thing was never working when I tried to use it. It was a constant battle of the wills for me, most days I didn’t even try, simply took the stairs, but some days I had a hope it’d work for me, today wasn’t one of those days and somehow I doubted tomorrow would be one either. I wasn’t in the best mood when I came downstairs. I’d passed out again for who knows how long – three days, sixteen hours, twenty minutes and forty six seconds – and woke to find my answer machine over flowed with messages. And when I went searching for food I found my fridge bare save molded bread, mayo and Chinese food that I couldn’t even recall ordering.
This was not how I planned to spend my leave – my forced leave mind you. My stomach's rumbling is what led me to come downstairs. It was on a whim that I ended up checking my mail. I never got much mail but I’d been “away” for a long time.
Sighing I made my way down the final few steps pushing the old door open. Stepping into the lobby I looked around, the coast was clear. I hardly ever saw anyone else who lived in the building minus the landlady who came to collect rent every once and a while. Sometimes I wondered how she got the rent money when I was “away” but I didn’t ever remember leaving it for her.
Shuffling into the lobby I made my way to the bank of mailboxes. Digging the key out I jammed the key in the slot, twisted and pulled. My box was filled. Frowning at the level of mail I pulled it out. Flipping through it I found most of it to be junk catalogs, spam and a few letters from my employer. I stuck the junk back in and flipped though the letters from my employer sorting them out by postmarks. Three months of mail was not a pleasant thing. It was a wonder I wasn’t fired.
As I was sorting through mail the lobby doors jingled signaling someone coming in. Looking up to see who it was I was greeted by the sight of a vaguely attractive Asian boy walking in. I used the term boy because something about him screamed kid. He was a little taller than average, dark shaggy hair – the kind that makes me wish I had a comb to run through it -- and about average build. I gave him a quick once over then turned back to my mail. I wasn’t in a place in my life to be looking for any new kind of relationship. I mean how could I explain I was going to be “away” and didn’t know how long I’d be gone for, it wouldn’t be fair in any way.
Even if I was looking directly at him I felt him come up close to me and had to stop myself from backing away. It had been a long time since I’d been within touching distance of another person. However before I could move I saw him give a quick once over. The kind that teenage boys give girls they’re interested in but not really.
"You look like shit," where the first words out his mouth to me. I barely hid the flinch and glared at it him.
"You're an ass," I informed him, like I needed some uppity brat telling me I looked like shit, I knew exactly what I looked like.
"Yeah, well that's not new," he said to me smiling like it was funny oh how I longed to punch him.
"What the fuck do you want? Who the fuck are you?" I snapped before I could stop myself.
Today was really a crappy day, first the missing time, then the elevator, now the brat in front of me – and to think I thought he was cute at first, and now my temper was getting away from me.
The kid smirks and me and I list reasons not to punch him. "Well, according to my mailbox, and your mailbox, you live above me."
I glare because that tells me nothing. I don’t know any one in the building and have made no effort to find out who they are.
"And that tells me what exactly?"
“Isn't that a bit obvious?” He pauses like I’m supposed to know what goes on in his head,
“ That, we’re neighbors?” What I assume is supposed to be a statement comes out as a question which only makes me glare harder. Looking at the stack of main in my hands I wonder why the fuck did I decide now of all times to come get my mail.
“And that thud last week woke me up?" I look up at him again, that sounded vaguely concerned which had I been in a better mood would have been endearing only I wasn’t in a better mood and it only caused me to be more pissed off. The only thing that had come out of this conversation that was useful was now I had a time stamp for my black out. It was Monday.
"That’s nice, and your point?" I say tapping my foot impatiently. With my shoulder I nudge the mail box door closed.
"Well, being that we are neighbors, and whatever caused the thud that woke me up hours before I had to be at work is probably connected to the reason why you look like shit, and so I am inclined to ask if you are okay. Okay?”
Yup, he definitely could be endearing if I was in a better mood. I count up to the 20th digit of pi to keep from being rude but my definition of rude and others is slightly different.
"Do I look...no, no I'm not okay, I haven’t been okay for a very long time."
I wasn't looking at him, but I could feel the frown on his face as if he is waiting for me to say more but I don’t.
"Oh. Okay then," he says finally when he realizes I’m not going to say anything else.
I mean, I was trying to be nice, but I'm no miracle worker.
"Well, I'm gonna go now,” he says and turns and starts to walk away.
I call after him, “Have a nice day, bratty kid, you never did say what your name was.”
“Kiki”.
“Kiki, really now?” He stops and looks at me when I say that.
"Really." Now I'm grinning.
"Childhood must have been hell."
"No, it was fine. Everyone knows all Asians know karate," he replied nonchalantly.
I laugh "Ah yes, conform to the stereotypes, especially when it keeps the bullies away.”
“You have a good day...Abigail,” he laughs as he walks away.
"How the fucking hell...” I ask confused and on the verge of being pissy again.
"Read your mail. You should pay attention more,” he calls over his shoulder as he strolls away.
I humph at him glaring as he walked away. And as if some god was laughing at me when he pressed for the elevator the door pinged and opened.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Almira - In Which She Receives a Phone Call
It is almost dark when she wakes, except for the incessant blue glare from the television. She’d left it on when she fell asleep, she realizes, in the middle of “Dangerous Minds.” Damn, and the movie was getting good. She squints at her watch and barely makes out the time: half-past two. In the morning. On a workday. It is shaping up to be an awesome day.
Almira stumbles through the darkness of her one-bedroom apartment and sighs with relief when her hand hits the light switch in the kitchen. She favors her left foot; she’d stubbed her big toe on a gigantic stone vase that she still planned to return to Target, someday. It had been a gift from the cousin of her best friend’s ex-neighbor — long story. But the stupid vase just had to go. Tomorrow I’ll return it. Or ask Daegen to return it. I wonder where the receipt is? I know her cousin gave it to me.
The cold glass of cranberry juice in her hand is frosting. She slowly sips while she stares at her left hand. Or, more specifically, the ring on her left hand. It is a simple gold band with an emerald stone. She is still getting used to its added weight. Daegen had proposed to her only two days ago.
Daegen McCallister. His name is almost stereotypically Irish, and the man lives up to the stereotypes. Chivalrous to a fault, and yet unable to fully comprehend the meaning of Women’s Lib. Almira smiles at the thought of him. Suddenly, her shirt is too tight and she is too hot. She cannot wait to be his wife.
The television is still on (an infomercial for yet another As Seen On TV weight loss product causes her to glance woefully at her thighs), but she can vaguely hear the hum of her cell phone over the TV announcer’s voice. She sets the glass down and runs back to the living room, where she rummages through her oversized purse. This purse is too damned big, I can’t ever find anything. Why do I feel the need to carry my life around? I’m going to develop a bad back. I’m only twenty-six, I don’t need a bad back. Maybe I should invest in—
Aha! “Hello?” It’s 2:40 in the morning. Who the hell are you?
“Hi, Almira. It’s Nick.”
“Oh, hi Nick! It’s great to hear from you. Do you know what time it is?”
“Oh come off it, Mira. I knew you’d be up, you little insomniac. Hey, would you mind if I stayed with you for a few days?”
“Why?” You’re one of my best friends, Nick, and I love you, but could you quit imposing on me so damn much?
“I swear, Mira, it’ll only be for five days, tops. It’s a long story—”
“I’ve got the time. What else could I be doing at almost three in the morning, besides talking to you?”
Nick laughs. “Very funny, Mira. Seriously, though, I have to meet with a gallery owner in the City on Thursday and I don’t want to stay at my parents again. I do have a place in Trenton, you know.”
“It’s just that you’re always here, Nick. Here in the city, I mean. Why don’t you just move here? I’ll see you more often, and you won’t take up residence on my couch all the time.”
“Jersey’s cheaper, Mira. You’re about to graduate with a law degree, you can afford your apartment. I’m an agent for a starving artist. I’m not exactly guaranteed a steady paycheck. So…?”
“Come on over,” Almira says. She sighs.
“Thanks, love. See you in a [few] couple of hours.” He hangs up. Nick never says goodbye.
They dated a long time ago, Nick and Almira. But he is an idealist and she is a realist, and while that combo makes for a smashing friendship, it made for an awful relationship. So they mutually decided to call it quits and just be friends. Oddly enough, he and Daegen have never met. They’ll need to before the wedding.
Almira sets her alarm clock for 7 a.m. and heads to bed. She falls to sleep thinking about the stupid stone vase. Why the heck would anyone even make a vase that damn big? Flowers just aren’t that tall. I really must return it.
Almira stumbles through the darkness of her one-bedroom apartment and sighs with relief when her hand hits the light switch in the kitchen. She favors her left foot; she’d stubbed her big toe on a gigantic stone vase that she still planned to return to Target, someday. It had been a gift from the cousin of her best friend’s ex-neighbor — long story. But the stupid vase just had to go. Tomorrow I’ll return it. Or ask Daegen to return it. I wonder where the receipt is? I know her cousin gave it to me.
The cold glass of cranberry juice in her hand is frosting. She slowly sips while she stares at her left hand. Or, more specifically, the ring on her left hand. It is a simple gold band with an emerald stone. She is still getting used to its added weight. Daegen had proposed to her only two days ago.
Daegen McCallister. His name is almost stereotypically Irish, and the man lives up to the stereotypes. Chivalrous to a fault, and yet unable to fully comprehend the meaning of Women’s Lib. Almira smiles at the thought of him. Suddenly, her shirt is too tight and she is too hot. She cannot wait to be his wife.
The television is still on (an infomercial for yet another As Seen On TV weight loss product causes her to glance woefully at her thighs), but she can vaguely hear the hum of her cell phone over the TV announcer’s voice. She sets the glass down and runs back to the living room, where she rummages through her oversized purse. This purse is too damned big, I can’t ever find anything. Why do I feel the need to carry my life around? I’m going to develop a bad back. I’m only twenty-six, I don’t need a bad back. Maybe I should invest in—
Aha! “Hello?” It’s 2:40 in the morning. Who the hell are you?
“Hi, Almira. It’s Nick.”
“Oh, hi Nick! It’s great to hear from you. Do you know what time it is?”
“Oh come off it, Mira. I knew you’d be up, you little insomniac. Hey, would you mind if I stayed with you for a few days?”
“Why?” You’re one of my best friends, Nick, and I love you, but could you quit imposing on me so damn much?
“I swear, Mira, it’ll only be for five days, tops. It’s a long story—”
“I’ve got the time. What else could I be doing at almost three in the morning, besides talking to you?”
Nick laughs. “Very funny, Mira. Seriously, though, I have to meet with a gallery owner in the City on Thursday and I don’t want to stay at my parents again. I do have a place in Trenton, you know.”
“It’s just that you’re always here, Nick. Here in the city, I mean. Why don’t you just move here? I’ll see you more often, and you won’t take up residence on my couch all the time.”
“Jersey’s cheaper, Mira. You’re about to graduate with a law degree, you can afford your apartment. I’m an agent for a starving artist. I’m not exactly guaranteed a steady paycheck. So…?”
“Come on over,” Almira says. She sighs.
“Thanks, love. See you in a [few] couple of hours.” He hangs up. Nick never says goodbye.
They dated a long time ago, Nick and Almira. But he is an idealist and she is a realist, and while that combo makes for a smashing friendship, it made for an awful relationship. So they mutually decided to call it quits and just be friends. Oddly enough, he and Daegen have never met. They’ll need to before the wedding.
Almira sets her alarm clock for 7 a.m. and heads to bed. She falls to sleep thinking about the stupid stone vase. Why the heck would anyone even make a vase that damn big? Flowers just aren’t that tall. I really must return it.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Marcus Stewart
Birds? Chirping? Morning...so soon?
There was a slight thudding inside my head and I wondered, what the...? Oooh. I smiled as I remembered the night before....then my phone rang. And the thudding elevated. I scrambled to find my phone which is underneath the cushion.
"Marcus. Why you ain't text me back?!"
I held the phone several inches away from my face. But I'm being generous today. Today I'm in a good mood. Usually, once the nagging started, I'd place the phone on my pillow and leave the room for a while. One time she was on there for a whole 30 minutes before she realized that I wasn't on the other end listening!
"Steph, calm down. I got home really late and I passed out on my couch. You texted me at fucking four in the morning?!"
She sucked her teeth at me. SUCKED HER TEETH. Wow. I really don't have time for this. Why do I even bother with this girl? I feel horrible because she claims to love me and I only see her for one thing...that booty she carries so well. Now before you say that Marcus is an asshole, understand that I'm NOT an asshole. Girls like Stephanie put themselves in this position. I have told her countless times that I can't see us in a relationship. Yet she continues to show up at my door and call me at all hours of the night. Ok, so I'm not helping the situation by letting her in and putting it on her, but still!
"Well, we were supposed to hang out last night and you stood me up! I don't appreciate that! What's your problem?"
I sigh and yawn at the same time. She doesn't like this and hangs up. I sat up then proceed to the bathroom to run the shower, removing articles of clothing as I went. Heh. I like to walk around my apartment naked.
Stepping out of the shower, I hear my phone go off. Not even bothering to wrap a towel around myself, I walk over to see that Stephanie was calling me back and sent it straight to voice mail. I'll handle that later.
There was a slight thudding inside my head and I wondered, what the...? Oooh. I smiled as I remembered the night before....then my phone rang. And the thudding elevated. I scrambled to find my phone which is underneath the cushion.
"Marcus. Why you ain't text me back?!"
I held the phone several inches away from my face. But I'm being generous today. Today I'm in a good mood. Usually, once the nagging started, I'd place the phone on my pillow and leave the room for a while. One time she was on there for a whole 30 minutes before she realized that I wasn't on the other end listening!
"Steph, calm down. I got home really late and I passed out on my couch. You texted me at fucking four in the morning?!"
She sucked her teeth at me. SUCKED HER TEETH. Wow. I really don't have time for this. Why do I even bother with this girl? I feel horrible because she claims to love me and I only see her for one thing...that booty she carries so well. Now before you say that Marcus is an asshole, understand that I'm NOT an asshole. Girls like Stephanie put themselves in this position. I have told her countless times that I can't see us in a relationship. Yet she continues to show up at my door and call me at all hours of the night. Ok, so I'm not helping the situation by letting her in and putting it on her, but still!
"Well, we were supposed to hang out last night and you stood me up! I don't appreciate that! What's your problem?"
I sigh and yawn at the same time. She doesn't like this and hangs up. I sat up then proceed to the bathroom to run the shower, removing articles of clothing as I went. Heh. I like to walk around my apartment naked.
Stepping out of the shower, I hear my phone go off. Not even bothering to wrap a towel around myself, I walk over to see that Stephanie was calling me back and sent it straight to voice mail. I'll handle that later.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Zoe
As I touch the card, a vision comes to me, blinding my senses.
Two of clubs, I think, as I turn the card over, to see the two of clubs.
Not bad. I've written down my results, getting all of them right as usual. Now if only I could predict something useful. I turn over and sleep.
I wake up, hearing the buzz of my alarm clock. I glance at the clock. 7:59. Not agai—
—Before I can finish my thought, the alarm clock rings, for real. I shut it off.
I'm not crazy. But there's no way to tell if this is actually happening to me, or it's just my imagination.
Sighing, I put on some clothes, grab a quick breakfast, and rush out the doors of my apartment. At least I'll never be able to oversleep, as long as I set an alarm. That's about the most useful thing I can do with my stupid, useless talent.
I wolf down a waffle, throw some clothes on, and head out of the apartment. I don't make a conscious decision to skip classes, it just happens. Somehow, I end up at the foot of a brownstone, in the neighborhood where I grew up.
A man answers me, taller than the last time I saw him. Of course he is, I think, as he stares at me in shock. What was I expecting, after five years?
“Zoe?” he asks. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I step over the threshold, forcing my way into his foyer. I rest my chin on his head, proud that I still tower over him. He'll always be shorter than me.
“Hey Tiger,” I say. “It's been a while.”
Two of clubs, I think, as I turn the card over, to see the two of clubs.
Not bad. I've written down my results, getting all of them right as usual. Now if only I could predict something useful. I turn over and sleep.
I wake up, hearing the buzz of my alarm clock. I glance at the clock. 7:59. Not agai—
—Before I can finish my thought, the alarm clock rings, for real. I shut it off.
I'm not crazy. But there's no way to tell if this is actually happening to me, or it's just my imagination.
Sighing, I put on some clothes, grab a quick breakfast, and rush out the doors of my apartment. At least I'll never be able to oversleep, as long as I set an alarm. That's about the most useful thing I can do with my stupid, useless talent.
I wolf down a waffle, throw some clothes on, and head out of the apartment. I don't make a conscious decision to skip classes, it just happens. Somehow, I end up at the foot of a brownstone, in the neighborhood where I grew up.
A man answers me, taller than the last time I saw him. Of course he is, I think, as he stares at me in shock. What was I expecting, after five years?
“Zoe?” he asks. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I step over the threshold, forcing my way into his foyer. I rest my chin on his head, proud that I still tower over him. He'll always be shorter than me.
“Hey Tiger,” I say. “It's been a while.”
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Something About The Other (Kiki)
I need a new hobby. Fapping's just not cutting it anymore.
It's almost noon, and I haven't attempted to leave the bed yet. I have to pee; I've been convincing myself I don't have to pee.
Aw fuck it, I have to pee.
Flinging the covers back, the sunlight stabs me in the corneas, I'm practically doubled over by the shooting pain in my head. Jesus, you would think 16 hours is enough to knock out a migraine, apparently not.
Pee is satisfying. At least the bathroom is dark.
I pad down the narrow hall into my unimpressive living room slash kitchen and sit down at the breakfast bar. Part of me wishes that it was strewn with beer bottles, cigarette butts, something fro crying out loud- that would at least hint that I had some sort of soical life. I'm plunking down 1275 a month for this postage stamp becuase I saw the bar and immediately thought- parties. I'm gonna have shitloads of parties, every freaking night, just music and tits and abs and whatever else people sling in their pants these days.
I think the only person who's come over in eight months is my landlord. He checked the pipes in ten minutes flat and left without a word.
Whatever. I'm young. Ish.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I spring from my stool and make haste of the the yards from here to the sink. Snatch up the phone. It's a text.
THS, at The Fillmore? Sat. Sold out. Got an extra.
I text in response, Oh, you mean Irving Plaza? Cause that's what it is, you know.
Return, Oh sod off. Same difference.
Response, Save your british slang for someone who gives a wank. ;)
Return. Come off it, you're always wanking.
Response, Touche.
Reluctant defeat. Yeah, I'm in.
Return. I win.
I leave the phone alone in exchange for rummaging through my fridge looking for breakfast. Exactly how one rummages through an empty fridge, I am not quite sure, but damnit i've made it an art.
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