(no subject)
Two individuals, one of whom reminded me of Joe Hacker, popped up unexpectedly. They followed me around, becoming a bit annoying at times. Overall, I liked both of them. The guy who reminded me of Joe Hacker had an Italian last name and looked a little like a skinhead, a little like a gutter punk. His friend, for whom I didn't care quite as much, had shoulder-length brown hair and looked a bit like Sebastian Schauseil, though he wore light facial hair. His personality, or lack thereof, made me want to limit my interaction with him. He wasn't really my friend anyway - he tagged along with the skinhead, whom I genuinely liked. I had a soft spot for the latter, actually; it was as if I looked after him, whether or not he knew it.
They were harmless, really wanting me to run with them. Most of the time, I wasn't in the mood, but they continued to appear, and I let them hang around. My first time out with them, we all hung out in a parking lot on the side of some shitty Midtown 'restaurant' reminding me of The Pancake Shop.
Oddly, we parked in the front lot, walked through the restaurant and exited to the side lot, where we remained for a time. While passing through the restaurant, I saw myself in third person, dressed in the old hoodie, wearing mostly blue and black. I also carried a large sword, which sounds silly, but, in fact, was some deep-seated personal quality symbolically manifest. I didn't hold the sword as a swordsman might; I carried it in a refined manner:
it rest against my chest, my arms crossed over it. It looked like humility.
Unfortunately, I tripped on the way through, and a number of younger customers laughed from their tables. I wasn't as much shaken as annoyed. I also considered that there would have been no laughter were I carrying my 'sword' as a weapon. As this notion is fairly abstract, I don't quite understand it.
Outside, our group stood near a concrete table and its surrounding crescent benches, like those at Baskin Robbins. Girls from inside, two or three of whom were attractive, followed us out. I was somewhat embarrassed, assuming they had been the ones laughing when I tripped, but, peripherally observing them, noted that two or three of them looked at me admiringly. Without a doubt, they had come out to flirt with us.
One of the more attractive girls stepped forward, asking our names. Everyone responded, except me. Instead, I took a few steps away from everyone and stood with my back to them. In reality, I do things like this when ready to disengage socially. Though I thought some of these girls were attractive, I wasn't interested in them; I was, in fact, a bit put off by their attention.
After everyone introduced themselves, the same girl asked what we wanted to eat. She and a couple other girls would order for everyone and bring the food out. It was like a mass date. Again, everyone responded, except me. I walked away altogether from the group, returning to my car.
Turning up elsewhere in Midtown, I ran into Vangi. She told me things weren't going well with Kent - she had more or less discontinued seeing him. He had somehow embarrassed her in front of one of his friends and, generally speaking, had again gone creepy. The punks showed up and invited us to hang out with them - they, too, had lost interest doing what we had been doing minutes before. Vangi and I agreed to meet them and they left, at which point we continued talking for a time.
We parted ways, in spite of our plans; shortly thereafter, we were on the phone. Her voice was completely different - I didn't like it at all. She sounded like a drug addict. She was going by herself to listen to some bands play - this is what we planned to do with the punks. I don't know why she opted to do her own thing. I worried about her being out and about like that, but kept it to myself. I had a feeling she was trying to meet someone, though still with Kent. This irritated me, as I recalled she did the same to me and felt this pattern would catch up with her.
There was considerable distance between us.
I showed up where the punks asked us to meet them. They excitedly approached the car while Vangi and I still spoke on the phone. For some reason, I wasn't wearing a shirt at this time. I rolled the window down and the skinhead asked, "Are you guys ready?" I told him Vangi wasn't with me, and I had to be home to eat with my parents, which was true. They were disappointed, deciding to return to the house with me instead of going in to hear music, wherever we were.
The skinhead drove us back to my house. He was a bit reckless, I thought, a bit too energetic at the wheel. He was simply in a really good mood, and a bit off on top of that. This is a recurring theme, i.e., the black guy driving Vangi and me in my car. Eventually, he settled down and I was no longer concerned.
They were harmless, really wanting me to run with them. Most of the time, I wasn't in the mood, but they continued to appear, and I let them hang around. My first time out with them, we all hung out in a parking lot on the side of some shitty Midtown 'restaurant' reminding me of The Pancake Shop.
Oddly, we parked in the front lot, walked through the restaurant and exited to the side lot, where we remained for a time. While passing through the restaurant, I saw myself in third person, dressed in the old hoodie, wearing mostly blue and black. I also carried a large sword, which sounds silly, but, in fact, was some deep-seated personal quality symbolically manifest. I didn't hold the sword as a swordsman might; I carried it in a refined manner:
it rest against my chest, my arms crossed over it. It looked like humility.
Unfortunately, I tripped on the way through, and a number of younger customers laughed from their tables. I wasn't as much shaken as annoyed. I also considered that there would have been no laughter were I carrying my 'sword' as a weapon. As this notion is fairly abstract, I don't quite understand it.
Outside, our group stood near a concrete table and its surrounding crescent benches, like those at Baskin Robbins. Girls from inside, two or three of whom were attractive, followed us out. I was somewhat embarrassed, assuming they had been the ones laughing when I tripped, but, peripherally observing them, noted that two or three of them looked at me admiringly. Without a doubt, they had come out to flirt with us.
One of the more attractive girls stepped forward, asking our names. Everyone responded, except me. Instead, I took a few steps away from everyone and stood with my back to them. In reality, I do things like this when ready to disengage socially. Though I thought some of these girls were attractive, I wasn't interested in them; I was, in fact, a bit put off by their attention.
After everyone introduced themselves, the same girl asked what we wanted to eat. She and a couple other girls would order for everyone and bring the food out. It was like a mass date. Again, everyone responded, except me. I walked away altogether from the group, returning to my car.
Turning up elsewhere in Midtown, I ran into Vangi. She told me things weren't going well with Kent - she had more or less discontinued seeing him. He had somehow embarrassed her in front of one of his friends and, generally speaking, had again gone creepy. The punks showed up and invited us to hang out with them - they, too, had lost interest doing what we had been doing minutes before. Vangi and I agreed to meet them and they left, at which point we continued talking for a time.
We parted ways, in spite of our plans; shortly thereafter, we were on the phone. Her voice was completely different - I didn't like it at all. She sounded like a drug addict. She was going by herself to listen to some bands play - this is what we planned to do with the punks. I don't know why she opted to do her own thing. I worried about her being out and about like that, but kept it to myself. I had a feeling she was trying to meet someone, though still with Kent. This irritated me, as I recalled she did the same to me and felt this pattern would catch up with her.
There was considerable distance between us.
I showed up where the punks asked us to meet them. They excitedly approached the car while Vangi and I still spoke on the phone. For some reason, I wasn't wearing a shirt at this time. I rolled the window down and the skinhead asked, "Are you guys ready?" I told him Vangi wasn't with me, and I had to be home to eat with my parents, which was true. They were disappointed, deciding to return to the house with me instead of going in to hear music, wherever we were.
The skinhead drove us back to my house. He was a bit reckless, I thought, a bit too energetic at the wheel. He was simply in a really good mood, and a bit off on top of that. This is a recurring theme, i.e., the black guy driving Vangi and me in my car. Eventually, he settled down and I was no longer concerned.