I love riding the train to work. Time to think; time to meditate... The woman next to me just answered her cell phone and then said, “Umm, I’m in North Carolina right now.” I used to cry a lot. Now I almost never cry. I could use a good cry, sometimes. Pass the Kleenex.
I wonder just how big the number on that crumpled bill would have to be for me to jump down there and get it. Maybe $50?
I wonder when that Venezuelan Handyman is going to come back and fix my squeaky hinge ... and play my guitar again? He had really nice hands, and skin the color of a Brazil nut.
In 8th grade I went to a dance all dressed up in a frilly dress, and I asked Sean Herridy to dance. He laughed so hard he almost cried. I went in the bathroom and then I cried, because I really liked him. Fuck you, Sean Herridy!!!
Then I came out of the bathroom and saw Cathy Belmar dancing with a boy, and she was the biggest geek of all, so I went in the bathroom and cried some more. Fuck you, Cathy Belmar!
I used to cry to get attention in first grade gym class, when I didn’t feel like jumping rope. I liked how all the teachers gathered around and tried to figure out what was wrong. I couldn’t tell them, because there wasn’t anything. I just wanted them to huddle around me. This doesn’t work quite as well in grown-up life, I’ve discovered.
It’s amazing how ugly the hidden back rooms of America are. All the trash we hide from view.
My idea of a good day when I was 10 was getting to spend 3-4 solid hours practicing my high jump in my grandparents’ yard, then going for a swim in the pond or climbing an apple tree.
I ran around with no shirt on until I was 11 years old. Everybody thought I was a wild little boy. It didn’t help that I never brushed the back of my hair.
When I was 13, I moved into my twin sister’s closet. I didn’t want to sleep in my room alone in the new house (we had always shared a room) so I set up a bed on her closet floor. It wasn’t a walk-in; it was just a regular sliding-door closet. I had my clock radio (playing Sheena Easton) in there and everything. It was grand.
When I was on the train traveling from Florence to Milan, there was a girl sitting across from me who was sucking her thumb the entire time. She was at least 16. I had vivid fantasies of slapping her face.
Sometimes, after a long day, I go down to the creek and throw different foods to the fish. They like Cheerios®, but not Craisins®.
This place where I live is so beautiful; I never knew that until I had traveled a bit & seen other places.
The woman next to me just answered her cell phone and then said, “Umm, I’m in North Carolina right now.”
I used to cry a lot.
Now I almost never cry. I could use a good cry, sometimes.
Pass the Kleenex.