2002-10-14 || 3:37 p.m.

|| like the umbrellas of cherbourg! but with groovy boots and holy sweaters and tupperware lunches! ||

i would really like to make my life into a musical. the latest scene would be me walking down the street reading a comic book, head down, humming the theme song and maybe doing some kind of fancy footwork in the crosswalk to swerve out of the way of a breakdancing old granny. and seated cross-legged across the street, alternately eating an apple and reading a tattered paperback and absently humming the harmony to the song that is our musical love, is the red-haired boy. so tragic. so touching. we are humming the same song and yet both our heads are down enthralled with reading, unaware of our beautiful righteous love-harmony. i get inside my building and gaze out upon him from my secret spying spot atop the second floor, and i press the palm of my hand to the glass, wishing he would know i was alive, that i was in fact the lady-voice dubbed in for the aforementioned street humming scene. i look away and the boy stands up to look at my window, the lenses of his glasses all sparkly and fire-like from the sun and his burnin burnin shyboy love, and he does three grand jetes into the street, three defeated heartwrenching lovelorn grand jetes mind you, and just nearly misses the wrath of an overdubbed brassy-sounding ice cream truck.

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