original fic/ Green
See that girl with the Pearl Jam sweater.
Makes me wish I liked Eddie Vetter
I'm a record collector.
The Planet Smashers - Record Collector
I press my temple to the cold glass of the window, the smell of the coffee in front of me filling up my nostrils. It’s a Sunday morning, and I still feel a heavy weight inside my head because of all the alcohol that I had circulating inside my body yesterday night. It’s weird how I can’t help to drink in some situations, when the other guys are there, and I just don’t feel like thinking too much and I hope that alcohol can make it all lighter and better and faster. I close my eyes, flashes of coloured t-shirt, and elbows and legs passing behind my eyelids, pieces that the night before left somewhere among the folds of my brain. I open my eyes again and move away from the coldness of the window. The cafeteria is echoing with the noises of cups placed over plates and of Sunday morning chatter. I look at the coffee in my cup and think that surely that warm tone of brow which coffee has is relaxing. I took a sip and feel my mouth twist involuntarily, I add some sugar. Holding the cup I look outside the window, the people passing by, people don’t seem to stop, not even for one day, in this town, they go back and fort, as little balls in a brightly coloured flipper. My eyes land on a girl wearing a green sweater, her hair loose on her shoulders are lightly moving following the wind which I imagine is blowing outside. She looks a lot like my ex girlfriend, but there’s something somehow stronger about her, and I don’t know if it is the fact that it is a Pearl Jam sweater that she is wearing or the fact that she is walking with her head held high and her hands in the pockets of her blue jeans. What I know is that I look at her, following her little body as she walks along the road, and I know she is going to disappear soon from my visual field but I can’t help the sudden desire to know her, it’s a simple desire and yet it’s strongly blossoming inside of me. For a moment I think to stand up, open the door of the cafeteria and run outside, to catch her wrist and to say a simple “Hi, my name is Michael, and yours?”, but I remain sat at the table, and look again at the coffee at the bottom of my cup, the green spot of her jumper still in my mind, still in my retina.