  | |||||||||
 thursday, june 14"I hope they're American..." I'd just tied the dogs to a bench outside Tulley's and staggered towards the cash register in desperate need of caffeine. I turned to shush Chieka who had begun to whine. Again. "I hope they're American..." It was far too early for one of those conversations. My questioner was well dressed, though he had a wild look in his eye that bespoke of some greater, internal battle. He nodded towards the dogs. How does one respond to something so bizarre? "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean." "Well, they look like they might be Indian." Indian? There was a long pause. What I wanted to say was "Indian?" or "what the fuck are you talking about?" but I responded with "they're Chihuahuas." "Oh." His mouth said "oh," but his eyes spoke volumes in a language I would never comprehend. I smiled wanly and exited, tea in hand, not wanting to engage in further conversation. It was way too early.
[ amina_lily ]'s mirror album at alt.sense. Mark Rothko, Self-Portrait, 1936 Yesterday? "Five, five, five, let's sing a song of five." |
|
|
|
   |
|
|
|
© 2000 - 2001
|
|
