End of an era...
I've been asked by my landlord to get rid of the porch couch.
She said that she'd make me a deal and if I get rid of it, she'll replace it with patio furniture but it won't be the same. SURE, having a ratty old couch on your porch is so...Fraternity house...but that couch (a 'love seat', actually) holds so many memories for me.
I pretty much forged my relationship with Electra while sitting on that couch, watching the clouds turn purple as the sun set behind us. It was such an important prop that she wrote a short story called 'Porch Couch' which I have, of course, never read.
I had an incredible four-hour chat with my wonderful Trader Jack on that couch, her fingers moving slowly between mine as we snuggled and laughed and just simply enjoyed each other's company in the short ammount of time we have between our crappy work schedules. We'll need to get a few more of those in before bulk-trash pickup day. We have two weeks.
Randy and I have had mirads of late-night conversations on that couch about everything from love to religion to our hopes and dreams.
Bethany and I have smoked thousands of cigarettes on that couch as the sun slowly rose above the rooftops of the southside.
And I had some really good sex on that couch. Like REALLY good. Like...HOO BOY...
But, you know, to all things there is an ending and the time has come for the magical mysterious porch couch to be tossed away. To be set free. To go to that great furniture showroom in the sky.
But I'm not worried. There's a little voice in my head that said to me, "Fear NOT, Mikewood. This was NOT a magic loveseat. The magic was in YOU all along".
She said that she'd make me a deal and if I get rid of it, she'll replace it with patio furniture but it won't be the same. SURE, having a ratty old couch on your porch is so...Fraternity house...but that couch (a 'love seat', actually) holds so many memories for me.
I pretty much forged my relationship with Electra while sitting on that couch, watching the clouds turn purple as the sun set behind us. It was such an important prop that she wrote a short story called 'Porch Couch' which I have, of course, never read.
I had an incredible four-hour chat with my wonderful Trader Jack on that couch, her fingers moving slowly between mine as we snuggled and laughed and just simply enjoyed each other's company in the short ammount of time we have between our crappy work schedules. We'll need to get a few more of those in before bulk-trash pickup day. We have two weeks.
Randy and I have had mirads of late-night conversations on that couch about everything from love to religion to our hopes and dreams.
Bethany and I have smoked thousands of cigarettes on that couch as the sun slowly rose above the rooftops of the southside.
And I had some really good sex on that couch. Like REALLY good. Like...HOO BOY...
But, you know, to all things there is an ending and the time has come for the magical mysterious porch couch to be tossed away. To be set free. To go to that great furniture showroom in the sky.
But I'm not worried. There's a little voice in my head that said to me, "Fear NOT, Mikewood. This was NOT a magic loveseat. The magic was in YOU all along".