There were days where the sun would rise with her eyelids. The smell of their bodies in the linens they'd wrapped around each other. He woke up and he was freezing - legs entirely exposed from the knee down. She'd unknowingly hogged all of the sheets over the course of the night, even though he was the one directly under the window. He loved little things like that about her. He'd tell her she looked beautiful and she'd jokingly say "Yeah, I know." He loved her.
He was sitting at her desk chair, tying his shoes and staring at her through the mirror. She was putting on some eye makeup and saw him staring lovingly. Often she'd then chuckle and say "Whaat?" - a question he'd always answer with a smile, "Nothing."
"Come on! You're being such a little baby!" he'd yell jokingly, neck deep in icy ocean water. She always lagged behind, slowly acclimating herself to the cold Atlantic with a pained smile. "It only makes it worse, you should just jump in!" She'd laugh and continue holding her bent arms tensely above her shoulders. Every time a frosted wave crested up her back, she'd let out a small gasp and look to him. All he could do was smile and so he did a lot of that.
"No. No, no, no come on. Nooo!" She was choking on her own laughter, because she knew he loved her. The cross-eyed feline droned up to his pillow. "She snores! And she takes up all of my space! And she produces like so much heat. She's like a radiator." Not gonna happen. She's hugging him, crying with laughter still. He gives up. Pleasantly resigning. He puts his arm around his girlfriend and her
loyal cat.
"Everything happens for a reason," she says like a saint. He cries.
"Hey! I didn't know you were in this class?" He said, weirdly excited.
She smiled and responded kindly. She took a seat behind him.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Katsumi.
The wind became energized when the screen panned onto a damp concrete wall. It (the wall) moved kind of like it had a purpose. Like it was told, hey people are watching now, look busy. It had personality, sort of. It had personality in that creepy way people think of their cats having personality -- in that way where anything animate is part of the family. The small red ball teeters by the gutter. It's getting pushed around back and forth. Moving towards the gutter, then stopping and rolling away down the road. Then it loses momentum and drifts and collides with the curb. The wind, now electric, was playing with the ball like a cat would with a wounded mouse. A prisoner of fun. The ball would escape for a bit, but just like the cat finally catches the mouse... It (the wind) moved on like a pack of droogies to the small girl at the crosswalk, like twenty feet from the damp wall.
But so by the way, this wall was the east wall of a moto-scooter store. There was an ominous feeling to it, for sure. The way there was moss growing all over it and how nobody had thought to spray paint this giant white 20 ft x 10ft wall. I guess it's kind of the product of neglect. Oh and it's cloudy. The sky, not the wall. Though, of course the wall isn't exactly spic and span. There's one window on the wall.
Katsumi was her name, though. The little girl. And don't worry, she's not in danger or anything. She hasn't like stumbled upon a dangerous part of town without her parents, no. She is there though. She happens to have come across this wind mistreating the red ball by the scooter store. But yeah so her name is Katsumi. She's not Japanese though. But so anyways she has carrots, yeah. Carrots and other innocent, nutritious vegetables and perhaps some minor confectionaries. Her long black hair binds her and wraps around her hips. She's like twelve probably and she sees this ball dusting itself off and the wind laughing and shit and doesn't much like the look of the wall, to be honest. Like, why is it even damp? It hasn't rained for like two weeks but this fucking wall is always wet in some way.
John Figeuroa has been sitting in his office in the scooter store for some hours now. He likes the way an enclosed space sounds when every door and window is shut. Kind of like when you were a kid and your parents would leave you in the car as they'd pick up some groceries. It's like you get to keep all of the sound. Like the sound wouldn't dare think of escaping. The engine isn't running and the radio is off. All you can hear is the sound of your breathing and the leather erking to your movements. John has been crying for quite some time now. He's a mostly bald man, John. Hasn't sold a scooter in a week or so and now he doesn't even leave his office. He doesn't even know whether people are showing up for work anymore. He doesn't really care. The one window in his office hasn't been cleaned. He made some Chef Boyardee in the microwave under the window yesterday which fogged up the bottom half of the window, and it hasn't quite fully cleared up yet. The window is on the east wall of the building and it looks out over nothing. It looks out across the street to an identical white wall. This day is different though. Katsumi is there, waiting.
But so by the way, this wall was the east wall of a moto-scooter store. There was an ominous feeling to it, for sure. The way there was moss growing all over it and how nobody had thought to spray paint this giant white 20 ft x 10ft wall. I guess it's kind of the product of neglect. Oh and it's cloudy. The sky, not the wall. Though, of course the wall isn't exactly spic and span. There's one window on the wall.
Katsumi was her name, though. The little girl. And don't worry, she's not in danger or anything. She hasn't like stumbled upon a dangerous part of town without her parents, no. She is there though. She happens to have come across this wind mistreating the red ball by the scooter store. But yeah so her name is Katsumi. She's not Japanese though. But so anyways she has carrots, yeah. Carrots and other innocent, nutritious vegetables and perhaps some minor confectionaries. Her long black hair binds her and wraps around her hips. She's like twelve probably and she sees this ball dusting itself off and the wind laughing and shit and doesn't much like the look of the wall, to be honest. Like, why is it even damp? It hasn't rained for like two weeks but this fucking wall is always wet in some way.
John Figeuroa has been sitting in his office in the scooter store for some hours now. He likes the way an enclosed space sounds when every door and window is shut. Kind of like when you were a kid and your parents would leave you in the car as they'd pick up some groceries. It's like you get to keep all of the sound. Like the sound wouldn't dare think of escaping. The engine isn't running and the radio is off. All you can hear is the sound of your breathing and the leather erking to your movements. John has been crying for quite some time now. He's a mostly bald man, John. Hasn't sold a scooter in a week or so and now he doesn't even leave his office. He doesn't even know whether people are showing up for work anymore. He doesn't really care. The one window in his office hasn't been cleaned. He made some Chef Boyardee in the microwave under the window yesterday which fogged up the bottom half of the window, and it hasn't quite fully cleared up yet. The window is on the east wall of the building and it looks out over nothing. It looks out across the street to an identical white wall. This day is different though. Katsumi is there, waiting.
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