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under_control
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» half-truths On the way to the laundromat he looked up and saw the moon challenging the setting sun. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a fire truck approaching the intersection. "That's not a fire truck, it's a city bus," he corrected himself. At the laundromat he saw a girl reading Tolkien and thought about chatting her up. Then he saw what she was folding. "Never date a girl who wears track pants," he reminded himself. Leaving the laundromat with his clean laundry stuffed unfolded into the duffle bag he looked up. He went home and watched Fight Club for the fourth or fifth time. He felt so good he ran some of the way to the market for chocolate soy milk. And leaving the market with a soy milk mustache he looked up. The stars were indistinct on account of his glasses being on top of his computer at home. But he spoke to them anyway. "Fuck you!" he said, adding, "I know where you live." Then he smirked to himself and went home to write it all down as if it was important.
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diaryland |