[i]
☼ ○ ▬
Zooming in on a map of some unknown European city.
Perspective getting closer and closer. Now I’m walking down the street with
Erica, my roommate, but she looks different and she’s wearing a long dress with
a belt mid-waist that skirts her ankles. A guy friend of hers passes by and
says, “I think you’re a ten!” We move along and reach the corner of an
intersection.
Me: “I think that kid likes you. He thinks you’re a ten.”
Her: “Well, I think he’s a seven.”
In response I attempt to apologize about last night and the
ruckus that ensued throughout the house.
▬ ○ ☼
Waking up ten minutes before noon.
I find a note left on the counter in the kitchen written
from the couch surfer from last night. He includes a display of a toothpick
balancing an interlocked fork and spoon on top of a wine glass.
“Friends,
May the wind be always at your back. I hate goodbye so
simply, until we meet again.
- Ethan
(Surfer, Summer 2012)”
Apricots.
Meeting my Aunt Pansy and her husband at Waterman’s on 5th
street for lunch. They invited me out a few days ago. Out on the back patio, the
summer beach scene surrounding us. Catching up on family news and life news.
Earlier they met a Turkish fellow selling umbrellas out on the sand. They felt
bad for him and bought him a sandwich as a gift. I admire the fake diamond
piece slotted in the headphone jack of her smartphone.
Pansy: “Ain’t that cute? I love the bling.”
Me: “Ha. Women love accessories...excessively.”
Being as well off as they are they pay for my Hummus Wrap
with French Fries and a Mr. Pibb and also cover the tip for the valet parking.
Back home.
Organizing. Cleaning up.
Art stops by to help troubleshoot restoring a laptop that my
bosses at China Wok wanted fixed.
Apple Fritter Toast. Figs. Plum.
Running an errand for Whiskey Rob.
At home. James Graves pops in after getting a massage over
at Leisa’s. A while back I had a Russian couch surfer message me about things
to do in Virginia Beach. She came to a Show N Tell a few months ago. James and
I drive over and scoop her up from Baltic avenue. Aysena is her name. We make
food and enjoy dinner conversation.
Aysena: “You have a beautiful house.”
Black Bean Salad with Mushrooms, Broccoli, Zucchini, Squash,
Onions, and Rice.
She impresses us with her sight-reading skills on the piano.
I return the favor by playing most of the Beethoven pieces I know.
Poker night is upon us and the guys start to trickle in.
Tristan, Dustin, James, Calum, Art, Darren, and I. We start up the game and we
all know the commitment that’s involved at this point: at least two or more
hours of our precious time.
Art: “The more you play the more you’re losing.”
Me: “The more you play the more you determine your hand.”
James: “In the bathroom right?”
[Haha]
Darren: “I determine my hand between the sheets.”
...
Darren always finds a reason to use the fact that I was an
only child against me, or to explain my behavior, “I was talking about you at
work today. I was telling them that my friend’s nearly 50 years old and you can
tell he was an only child. Like that shit is stuck with him through his
mid-life crisis and you can still tell he’s an only child.”
...
Art asks Dustin to trade him some black chips, “Hey I’ll
trade you some blacks.”
Tristan, being a the black person that he is, declares, “We
don’t do that anymore.”
[Shared laughter]
...
Darren: “Look at that. I’m not even gonna look at my cards
cause I’m a man living on the edge. I didn’t grow this mustache for anything.”
Me: “But that soul patch keeps you in check.”
...
Dustin attempts to explain himself when he raises a
particular bet, “It’s not being a douche. It’s just being strategy.”
[Haha] We all realize the error in his statement because
obviously one cannot BE strategy. Darren’s the first to poke fun, “It’s just
being strategy? Being strategy! You have a masterful control of the English
language. I AM strategy! I am an abstract term! I define it! I’m the physical
manifestation of strategy.”
Dustin: “Whatever.”
...
It’s over. Art wins. Goodnight.
Tortilla Chips with Avocado.
Sleep 3 a.m.
[i] All images
by me.
No comments:
Post a Comment