Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Forks have 3-4 tines. I'm going home.

I woke up on Kristin's friend's boyfriend's twin bed with a clear head. I'm ready for another year. Tape it right to the end of the last one, but draw me a line so I can see where it began. (These words are that.)

I got a nice lightly used Kelty backpacking-style backpack. It was at a Goodwill Outlet in town, and I paid $2.13 with tax. I'll never be homeless. If things get bad, I can just crawl into this bag and sleep.

7:21pm had me halfway home. Kristin and I were paused outside an Italian restaurant in White Plains. I was a step beyond hungry, but the look of the place made me want to don a jetpack and take the short way home.

I hated the place and I judged everyone inside. I judged a fast and accurate synopsis, and I wanted to shoot the guy with shingles. I wanted to flip something through a window. The man-sized ornamental fork on the wall had five tines. They're messing with me. I was handcuffed and slapped with a thousand lazy hands.

We fought on the way home about nothing. We're both so awesome that it gets too easy. We have to pry pretty deep and I sound like an asshole when I defend myself. It's my tone of voice and how I resist admitting fault due to rarely being wrong. It was nice to get home to a clean room. That's all anyone needed.

No comments: