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Showing posts from January, 2005

Punks-On Friday

3:33 p.m.

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
The stairwell was warm with brown carpet and cream walls.
The stairwell was warm with the smell of piss. Three year old boys on their playground and grown men with even less sense of themselves.
Minnie and Krystal sat on the second step of the first floor, so they had time to move if anyone needed up or down the stairs of the five-story apartment building.
Minnie and Krystal were on LSD.
"This sucks. I am high and this sucks," said Krystal, rubbing at her hair, head bent and sighing. "Amber is taking forever. Let's get outta here."
"No," Minnie said. "Amber paid for the acid. I'm waiting for her."
"Well, I am not,” Krystal wore her scowl, stood up , patting her legs, her purple jeans. "Maybe I'll go find Micky and Tommy."
"Have fun," Minnie smiled up at her. bitch...
Krystal smiled back at Minnie, too; and then she left.

4:36 p.m

Wish You Were Here

"Bisakah anda bicara... english?"
The words slow and broken as they were read. She saw kind eyes pleading towards her and somewhat desperate.
"I speak inglis little," she replied.
She saw relief flow into this bright haired and blue eyed mystery. She let her eyes drop down then traced them up slowly over the sandled feet, on past the curve of hips in the soiled kakis and up to the roundness of her breasts.
At last, it was the cool white V of flesh peaking from the unbuttoned collar of her shirt that held them.
A hand was placed on her shoulder.
"Today, you will be my saviour."
Her eyes looked up into the blue. "My name Onahjay," and she placed her fingers on top of the hand.
The blue eyes looked over her new friends dirty rags and swollen belly, wondering why in the streets so late.
"Can I call you Jay?"
The two stood looking at each other for a while.
There was nothing else really to say.

Punks-A Tuesday

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
“Walk me home after school,” she offered Tommy, as she passed him in the corridor, bumping him with her elbow. She was on the way to her history class.
He watched, as she walk away, in her skirt; black, red and white plaid. Her hips straight.
Blue sneakers squeaking down the hallway.

Tommy waited for her after last class, looking tall, leaning against her locker. She liked how he looked in his blue jean jacket. When it was warm weather, Tommy would roll the cuffs up, but it was the first week in October.
“Have you missed me today, Tommy?” she asked him.
Tommy wished he knew what to say to her, but he hardly ever did.
Tommy shrugged his shoulders and looked away from her.
He noticed Mick walking out of the front doors of the school with Melanie Atkins.

It was quiet. Minnie and Tommy glanced at each other sometimes, as they passed the joint between themselves. They sat on the bleachers overlooking the never u…

Light My Fire


I love Sunday Nights. I try to leave them free whenever I can.
Sunday Nights are the nights I stay up until I do not want to. 3 A.M. at the very least.
Because I hate Mondays. I do everything and anything I want to do for myself on Sunday Nights.
I may or may not answer my phone.
Because I may be in the bathtub for two hours.
Or doing crosswords.
Or might be in the land of fairies.
Or Waterfalls.
I have as much fun as I can on Sunday Nights because I hate Mondays.

The place where I go Everyday has recently requested a required change to my daily hours.
Quite lovely of the people in charge, I thought, when I saw my new hours for the first time.
But I am not going to complain because I am fairly new there.
And because of Mondays.
I do not have to arrive at my Everyday until two in the afternoon on Mondays.
And I hate Mondays.
This is pretty cool, I thought, out loud. I can do things on Mondays. Like sleep!
You don't even like to sleep-in, The Voice had answered me.

The Sun Sets At 9

Nine Years Old

The backyard was such a waste. Looking at it often made Tommy empty with thought. Nothing could be found for pretending with the uneven ground and the sad patches of grass and stone. The tree; short with pale bark. The fence line weeds.
Tommy wished just once that they could move to somewhere with a nice backyard, so he could have some fun.
...but somethings never change, Tommy thought and felt grown-up, as he sat on the old wooden porch. It was painted red; flaking and all of the little pieces seemed to be pricking and sticking into his skin. He would brush at the blonde hair on the back of his leg often.
The air tasted bitter, dirty.
A fat rain drop landed on his colouring book. And then another. Enough to see through to the traces on the next page.
He looked towards the kitchen window. The square patch of light. He could see the clock. It made Tommy noticed the lightbulb stuck, jutting out of the wall beside the backdoor for the first time; the soft yellow glo…