Thursday, July 3, 2008

Styx was on tour ages ago. Actually last month according to the woman's concert t-shirt. I would have never guessed.

Three black girls full of nothing but, what someones grandmother would call, sass, walk shoulder to shoulder to shoulder up the street: Hot damn! look at those shorts, look at those legs.

Two more kids, no three, four---four more kids are following a father. For the whole day? Who set him up? Going to the mall is like rafting into the heart of something obscenely dark. Oh, the horror, the horror. I want some candy!

She's a tall drink of water, someones drunk uncle would say, hanging off the arm of a man who feels her body heat and smiles accordingly. She thinks like the smile of DaVinci's painting. Murky. She controls the pounding of her heart with the steps they take and wishes his lips followed her wherever she walked.

Beautiful. That is how he describes her. She loves it when he laughs. She loves his lips. She loves the tired look in his eyes. She loves it when he describes her with. . . Beautiful.

The Asian girls have discovered cameras. Every angle of their name brands can afford to be shot now. They laugh and dress as stereotypically as possible making it easy to pass them, what someones mother would say, wooden nickels.

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