Friends 09/05/2007
Nothing’s been the same since sleep kicked in again. I’d like to dwell on the “purulent detail” of the group I’d met with my three friends, but apparently all the Girls from mixed companies have gone into a clanky set of dreams. Plus I wasn't the one who was talking to the Girls in the first place.
The honest truth is, as We set out around to avoid one corner where a suspected rapist was being stood off by police, We came up on a row of steel doors in miniplexes not unlike the openings to laundry chutes, but sized for people. I opened one of the doors which swung out far too easily. Inside I noticed all the women dimmed into showcases with earsets were just pretty, and all the men wearing the same, not unhandsome but not handsome. Below the low, amber track lights thin threads of blue glowed in small arcs over every other ear. I walked in, gave somebody a high-five and they looked puzzled but gave me one right back. He then stood up and walked out, joining our friend group. As we were leaving a Japanese man shot out through a door with an infant in his arm. Swinging closed, We caught sight of an exit corridor and knew that was the one We were supposed to go in. The man had a puckered face that said he'd gotten the wrong kind of attention from his work visit, and that he was annoyed at having to walk all the way around the little complex to leave. He didn't join our group of friends.
It was this that made Us head back toward the barricades. We were just getting coffee, waiting on out-of-town friends, not doing anything terrible. We’d picked up a couple of more friends along the way We’d met walking from District houses down to the recently opened Deli & Bar. It seemed so regularly paced I had to remind myself We were on vacation, this was Vacation Time.
Somebody at the back of our growing number of friends asked where the Girls were located; I informed him they’d gone into a clanky set of dreams. We walked on to the Deli & Bar to pay for food and water. I heard one friends (a girl) tell another friend (a boy) that she really just wanted a "free night" with him. Somebody else wanted to see some landscape paintings.
Why? Another friend asked.
Landscape painting is about the disappearing of landscapes, usually, the friend said.
That’s all? No more no less? But which friend said it I didn't catch.
Vacation Freedom Night with a sex friend and tour of a museum with paintings. I announced that neither was possible now, but I couldn't turn around to see who I'd said it to. By now our number of friends had reached close to 20, enough to not see everybody at once, at a single look. Some ate inside on the counters and others ate outside with the police across the street with black and brown guns they squeezed like shiny, terrified bugs. They pointed at the mud-gray windows, where behind the windows, the suspected rapist switched off the porch light curtly.
The honest truth is, as We set out around to avoid one corner where a suspected rapist was being stood off by police, We came up on a row of steel doors in miniplexes not unlike the openings to laundry chutes, but sized for people. I opened one of the doors which swung out far too easily. Inside I noticed all the women dimmed into showcases with earsets were just pretty, and all the men wearing the same, not unhandsome but not handsome. Below the low, amber track lights thin threads of blue glowed in small arcs over every other ear. I walked in, gave somebody a high-five and they looked puzzled but gave me one right back. He then stood up and walked out, joining our friend group. As we were leaving a Japanese man shot out through a door with an infant in his arm. Swinging closed, We caught sight of an exit corridor and knew that was the one We were supposed to go in. The man had a puckered face that said he'd gotten the wrong kind of attention from his work visit, and that he was annoyed at having to walk all the way around the little complex to leave. He didn't join our group of friends.
It was this that made Us head back toward the barricades. We were just getting coffee, waiting on out-of-town friends, not doing anything terrible. We’d picked up a couple of more friends along the way We’d met walking from District houses down to the recently opened Deli & Bar. It seemed so regularly paced I had to remind myself We were on vacation, this was Vacation Time.
Somebody at the back of our growing number of friends asked where the Girls were located; I informed him they’d gone into a clanky set of dreams. We walked on to the Deli & Bar to pay for food and water. I heard one friends (a girl) tell another friend (a boy) that she really just wanted a "free night" with him. Somebody else wanted to see some landscape paintings.
Why? Another friend asked.
Landscape painting is about the disappearing of landscapes, usually, the friend said.
That’s all? No more no less? But which friend said it I didn't catch.
Vacation Freedom Night with a sex friend and tour of a museum with paintings. I announced that neither was possible now, but I couldn't turn around to see who I'd said it to. By now our number of friends had reached close to 20, enough to not see everybody at once, at a single look. Some ate inside on the counters and others ate outside with the police across the street with black and brown guns they squeezed like shiny, terrified bugs. They pointed at the mud-gray windows, where behind the windows, the suspected rapist switched off the porch light curtly.
posted by the landscapers of at 5.9.07
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