2003-12-03 || 3:20 p.m.
|| masculin photo booth sidewalk ||
you know in masculin feminin (i know. insert obnoxious french new wave movie reference. right. here.) when the fellow is asking girls to take photobooth pictures so he can make out with them? i think that was in masculin feminin. but. i did that today. i stood on bancroft drinking coca cola from a glass bottle with a straw and tucked three dollars in my pocket in case i got lucky.
didn't get lucky.
because. you know. that involves asking somebody. which involves. you know. talking.
but. today i remembered a time years ago when o had a ring on his keychain and i was admiring it and he said i could have it. and they way he said it, with the most prickly words and sound in his voice, conjured up all his feelings for a certain lady at one time regardless of how hard he was trying to hide those feelings. i could see it all, their faces all hologram-like. and i declined the ring because it was like taking something from a recently dead person, something you've lifted from a jewelry box or hand tucked into a coffin, with their breath molecules attached to it, and what their favorite color was, and what they had for dinner the night before they found out they were going to die that day. too haunted.
i thought of all this on the street today. there's no one talk to since the workfriends have fled, and i have again adjusted to the solitary worklife of wandering telegraph and running imaginary errands (spotted very hott boy in the post office today) and turning wheels of conversations past in my head like an organ grinder just to remember the sounds of words and voices.
that's a little bit pathetic.
it isn't so bad. my spying inclinations are waking up and modern technology allows my sister to ring me every forty-two minutes and i stand on the curb and talk to new york every once in a while and try to cast spells on plate techtonics so that the east coast can drag itself westward a bit to be in running distance from berkeley.
it isn't so bad.
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