PrettyFakes

i wish everyday was like sunday. my little neighborhood is so wonderful i can’t walk more than a block before spotting somebody—today, in rapid succession:

1. criminal procedure professor, walking her two ugly dogs

2. buddy from school who only addresses people—men and women—by their last names, driving in his giant white chevy truck

3. a guy i haven’t seen in five years , who lives in portland now, walking with friends that live down the street. they were taking him to see how high the river’s risen in the past weeks.

since i had conversation, i didn’t need the songs i loaded my old mp3 player up with just for the walking-to-work trip:

hall & oates “rich girl,” backed up with “say it isn’t so”

the troggs “with a girl like you”

queen & bowie “under pressure”

dolly parton “here you come again”

matt pond p.a. “closer”

pretty girls make graves “speakers push the air”

badly drawn boy “silent sigh (acoustic)”

i think you’ll have to agree with me that it’s pretty much the most worthless mix ever.

so i unlock the front door of my office, walk in, and—there’s a screaming buzzing sound of two different klaxons, my eyes are popping from a strobe light—fuck, we have an alarm! i didn’t fucking know! goddammit! how do i . . . fuck! i’m going to get arrested.

fast-forward fifteen minutes. i have the alarm code now. and i’m blushing a lot.

This entry was posted on Sunday, March 2nd, 2003 at 5:52 pm and is filed under Gorjus, In Mississippi. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.