I was on the patio of a coffee shop, the one where all the local artists come to see and be seen and write long flowing novels about their poetic rediscovery of religious epiphany, with someone I’ve known for a long time. He was smoking a cigarette, the gray little waves catching the light and reminding me of Kubrick for reasons utterly unrelated to the situation. damned cottonmouth smokers. He looked at me, blue under gold, and asked, “Well then, shall we be lonely together?” and I didn’t consider before replying, “I don’t see why not.” We’re not sure what we’re doing here. We’re sprawled in black netted chairs, he’s leaning on me, one arm draped over my lap, my arms on top of his. The sun went down an hour ago. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you.” he says. This is the culmination of a handful of parties, a thread running through all the conversation tapestry we’ve been weaving. I’ll sit with him when he’s present, and I’ll crash with him when the sun comes up in the morning. “Why not?” I tuck a curl of hair behind his ear and he lights another cigarette. I try to take a photograph of the quintessal smokers moment, that drag on camera, that american dream gesture of removing the fag from the mouth on camera to let smoke curl from the lips like a film noir fantasy. The lighting is right, but I fail. He can’t let it drift when I’m paying attention. “If I knew that, then I would know if I was in love with you or not.”
Day: May 16, 2005
how would I explain this to the children
how to get free parking downtown Vancouver: If you use Future Shop gift card on the Impark machines that accepts credit cards, the machine reads it as a credit card. Input whatever time you want, the card isn’t affected at all.
Six o’clock Sunday morning is when my body decided to punish me for Saturday excess. Twitch said a muscle and my eyes slammed open to agony, thumb burying itself in my ankle suddenly turned to stone. I’m starting to get used to this, expecting it even. I danced from nine:thirty to three in the morning. I only sat down twice.
Also upon waking, I had a crushing realization. I forgot to hit up the secret swing when I was in Toronto. I lose. I lose like children eating paint-chips, like an incredible miracle which never had any witness, like crayons with stupid names like Cheyenne Umber. I lose out like a soldier missing his last kiss before he goes to war.
I was not exactly happy stepping onto the plane, but I was pleasantly surprised by the in-flight movie. “My polluted heart could not help but laugh.”
No one told me that Phantom of the Opera was a comedy.