Most unforch, however, was the fact that it was raining, and although I don't mind the rain, cigarette-smoking in the rain has proved to be somewhat difficult in the past. So I went on a quiet search for an umbrella, and discovered that my house has two of them. The first was a skeletal, burnt umber (I got that color from my Crayolas) thing, and it was not very securely attached to its frame. The second was my old hot pink parasol from about 1986. Hooked handle, frilly edges, not wide enough to cover my shoulders. And I thought, "dude, parasol, hands down" and I worked it, bra-less, with my sweet ass umbrella, hawaiian shorts, "we ain't trash no more" tshirt and hiking boots. And my crazy buttsniffing dog.
So I'm like, "It's three in the morning as Sunday becomes Monday. There will be no people anywhere." I might have even said it out loud to my dog, to further convince myself that my appearance will be kept between the two of us. I walk down the street. Turn the corner. Light my cigarette. Then there is talking. I'm like, whatever. Then there's giggling. Bitch, don't laugh at me.
This kid (in my head he's a kid because he's four years younger than me and I've known him since I was seven, but he's about 20 years old) is sitting on his porch with about six of his friends, drinking and smoking. Not a big deal, whatever, even though I took care of his dog when his family was on vacation. I walk right past the house and feel kinda ballsy despite my trailer attire, so I'm like, "What's up guys?" and they start laughing and yell, "Nice umbrella." I'm just trying to be social here. Don't mock my fucking parasol. So I just laugh it off, and say, "Shut the hell up," and they just giggle and talk quietly. Bastards.
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1 comment:
I'm writing this here in an early post because it's just for you and I want to minimize the chances of anyone ever seeing it.
It's weird, but sometimes when I think back of specific times of my life, I actually remember you, like you were there, like we were friends. I think you know way more about me than I do about you despite the fact that you've written way more than me and I all I wish to ask you the whole reason behind this is...is there a way that we could be friends on Facebook, or Twitter, or e-mail? Because I'd like to speak to you sometimes about the stuff you taught me and the stuff I remember and how fun and constant you always were in my mind?
I guess all I'm trying to say is I miss you.
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