WAIT! HOW DID YOU END UP HERE? This is my OLD blog!

WAIT! HOW DID YOU END UP HERE? This is my OLD blog!
Click to teleport forward through internet space!

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

the native and the hairspray.

she had olive skin, a little bottle of hairspray, and a hallucination.

you're not black! stop pretending you're black!

she sprayed her hair - she hated her flyaways.

didn't your father ever teach you to pack only what you needed?
BITCH!

her eyes were half closed. she was trembling.

yeah? you don't scare me! i have four sons. one of them killed 10 men. they'll kill you too.

spritz.

i'm not scared.

spritz.

you - you're a fucking white boy. don't pretend you're black.
i'm not scared.

by this point i was still holding the book i was reading, but my eyes had definitely stopped moving.

go ahead and point that gun at me! blow my fucking head off! i dare you!
i have four sons...

people started getting up and moving.

oh yeah? and look at you? you're a little bitch riding the subway alone. i don't care about you.

everyone tried to resist the urge to look at the seat she was talking to as they walked by - resist the urge to look harder than they should.

you're fucking ugly. yeah!

by this point the rest of the train's passengers had made the car back-heavy, leaving only me, the native woman, and an asian man at the front of the car.

{singing} it's my birthday - i solved the time difference - it's my birthday!

then she danced [or more - wiggled] moving her hands like stirring a pot.
and yes. it was awesome.

are you a writer?

resist.

are you a WRITER?

i suddenly felt sorry for the asian man she had cornered. he was holding a book like me.

i said arrrrre youuuuu a wrrrrrrrrrriterrrrrrrrrr?

he couldn't find the words. he shook his head from side to side, barely looking up.

oh. well. i'm looking for an editor. i've got a story that will make us MILLIONS!
{asian man: i'm not a writer.}

the urge. but this time, the urge was of a different splendor. this time everything in myself was screaming at her: TELL ME YOUR STORY - I WILL LISTEN. and then the part i wouldn't tell her would be that i would take her and write about her, myself.

fucking bitch! you're ugly. i'll kill you.

i decided against this and got off at my station.

i really do hope she makes millions.
i would buy her book.

No comments: