2005-03-23 || 1:29 p.m.

|| covert operations ||

staying in a motel mid-week makes me feel like a secret agent. there were cigarette burns on the tub and a lamp was busted and the tv reception hampered a pivotal, i am assured, episode of the starlet. the freeway was quite literally a stone's throw from the door and i kept peeking out the window from behind light-blocking curtains because my location somehow begged for it. getting found out. leaving the room with hands up and all apologies; i know it's a school night. i know i haven't come up with a convincing excuse for my certain tardiness to work in the morning. my jacket does in fact smell like a honky tonk; it just seemed fitting in that place to drink lots of beer and smoke cigarettes on the bedspread they charge $90 for if you steal it.
i woke up very early in pitch black. the water in the tub didn't drain. i snuck out of the room with ginger steps and clothes and things heaped in a pile in my hands and made it to my car, undetected. i drove over a bridge and along the freeway to work. i stopped at a red light at the exit and wished i were wearing wig and sunglasses just so that i could pull them off and throw them out the window and baffle fellow commuters on the well-beaten paths of their regular work day.

previous || next || random

guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land

Site Meter