ender
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Joined 6 years ago
ender
Posted three pieces
Thinks of IF1
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“. . .” means count to three then read. And this is inner monologue.
Ian let his head hang even lower betwixt his shoulders anchored to his elbows resting on the fast food eatery railing. Would he ever succeed his love troubles, or would he be doomed to dark rooms and Bright Eyes? Up ahead, another customer is served and the assembly line moves. Forced up and forward, Ian resumes his usual biped stance of slouched shoulders and hidden knuckles, with an ever constant downward glare; evolution at its . . . whatever. What is to become of him if, when life closes a door, he stands stagnant and stares at the wood grain? What? What good can come of glum? None. And so, in response to his snapping synapse, his head elevates and his vision travels down the sordid ally that is Natalie, the cashier. Sweaty palms. Heart attack. Drought mouth. Humming bird eyes. Mad Hatter tendencies. Rain cloud eye brows. Where was I?
“. . . Sir. . . ?”
“Guh?!” Where the fuck am I?
“Sir? Can I take your order?” The pretty girl in the paper hat is asking me a question. Oh yeah, that’s rite. What the hell, it’s now or never rite? Judging eyes be damned!
“You and I could some day fall in love and that’s a scary thing to say rite off, but its true and even when someone says they’re not looking for love, they are ‘cause no one is as good as they are when they are loved and I don’t love you or anything rite now I just wanted to get to knoe you and talk to you and this seemed like a real original and elaborate way to break the ice and maybe find a girl who thinks like me.” Wow, that seemed more meaningful magnificent when I was fucked and riting in my notebook. Shit. Okay. . . So maybe it’s just the whole of the store crew that is staring at me. Shit. Great time to forget where the door is. . . Left. . . Which way is left? Yeah, next time I mite should do this sober . . . or not as fucked. Yeah. Not as fucked.
“Fuck. Man. I did not wave a packet of ketchup at every one and then have a visible and audible struggle opening the door. I mean, I was high, but shit!”
“I’m afraid so. Well, actually, I’m quite pleased about it; it amused me so.”
How is he hitting that again? I thought it was totally tapped. No. No, I just got here not one half of a days hour ago. We just packed this one. I must be thinking about yesterday. Yeah. Yesterday. I’d better lie off; have a few sober days and figure out what day it is. Yeah. I gotta get home.
“. . . you wanna . . . wanna hit this shit . . . dude . . . ?”
“. . . yeah . . . I think I do. . . “
In place of my beanie I came here with, I will now be wearing a miner’s helmet. I now descend to where the ravens and the writing desks and the polar bears and the lawn chairs co-exist. The black birds with blue eyes; the wish well but hope tragedy so to satiate pity. The few who tip twenty five percent. That doesn’t even make sense. I can’t even think rite now. I’m going to sleep. Another day, another dollar.
This is the series in which goes the users daylogs, please keep non-daylogs out of here, and keep daylogs in here. Also, do not edit the title of this, or pieces in it will not be recognised as daylogs, thanks.