09 > Gallery of Femininity: Sides of the Coin
The annoying little weasel fired up his cigarette almost instantly as he sat down infront of me. I had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes by the time the bastard had shown up, and the fact that he had the nerve to light up a cigarette without even asking me if it was okay first really bugged me.
Not that I minded, though. It's the principal of the thing.
"Oi. Name's David. Pleasure."
He brought out his dangly little hand for me to shake, and I paused for a second before accepting it. It wasn't too slimy, which I suppose is a good thing. Still, the weasel was looking at me with those uncomfortable eyes. The kind that made you want to make a quick exit, but you kept talking yourself down to a nervous shifting of weight in your seat.
The Cafe was your usual bullshit. I wasn't really surprised that... David.. wanted to meet me in a place like this. Full of artsy fags talking about "their next big movie" or dime store philosophy. The colours were dingy greens and pastels, mixed in with the usual shit brown blotted into random places. The guy at the counter had too many piercings to be sanitary and the walls were adorned with wannabe artists... It wasn't my kind of place.
It was then that I realized that I didn't really have a kind of place.
David? Yes... David. He got us Cappucinos. I wasn't impressed frankly. He seemed to like it though, and it was his tab. Whatever.
"So, Tracy, what should I know about you?"
The fucker had a grin a mile wide when he said it. I wanted to hit him with my industrial-strength purse right across the face, and watch the cigarette fall into his cappucino. Preferably alongside some blood and maybe a couple of teeth.
I settled for a deep breath and a rebuttal.
"I suppose that depends on what you're expecting of me."
Apparently, even my best deadpan expressions come of as flirting. He got that twinkle in his eye that guys get when they think I'm flriting with them. I idly wondered if the table was bolted to the floor. It was. Damnit.
The questions continued. The same old shit. What's your measurements? Are you single? What do you want to do with your life?
Certainly not fuck weasels like you, dipshit.
I started wondering what it was that had brought me to this point. Friends that kept proving to be self-interested to such a degree that it was a bad idea to even idely hope for help, let alone ask it... Working damn hard in school and getting nothing for it. Deciding that my parents were idiots and trying to strike out on my own... flocks and flocks of the wrong choices in men. The ones who treated you like shit for no discernable reason. Was all of it leading up to this one thing?
My soul kept clawing at the back of my mind as I kept lying. I'd like to say I had a choice, that I could make it in this evolutionary experiment that everyone calls a city without having to be duplicious. I wanted to vomit by the time David invited me to a party he was running late to. All the best and brightest were going, and it'd be a career suicide not to.
He lit up another smoke and looked at me. Just like before.
So I cut my preverbial wrists.
"I'm sorry, David, but that's just not my scene."
Cutting my wrists killed David. His eyes went dead as he looked away from me. He didn't speak a word as he took another drag off his smoke and looked about to see if anyone else had noticed what I had said. He's embarrased? I was the one stuck beside him for an hour and a half.
He didn't even look up at me as he fished his fat black leather wallet out of his pants and smacked a few bills on the table. I barely saw him put the wallet away as he grabbed his fashionable 'faux leather' jacket and made a B-Line for the exit.
He turned back to me at the door, though. He turned back and just looked at me. I found my eyes drawn to his for just a second before he walked out that door. My heart quickened and I think my palms started sweating. I wasn't attracted to him, was I? No. No no no no. I couldn't be, could I?
Regardless, I never saw him again.
That weasely bastard. Just once I'd like there to be a clear line between an Interview and a Date.
(GALLERY OF FEMININITY: A collection of images of various women from the LiveJournal Random Image Generator turned to Stories. Short blurbs that are introspection into how Women affect men, society, and vice versa. I don't know how long this will last per se, but I hope to have one a week until it is done.)
all but the image is (c) 2005 Eric Logan Taylor.
[01 > Night Cap.]
[02 > The Road to Metamorphosis.]
[03 > Defining Perception.]
[04 > One of Many.]
[05 > Locked in Stasis.]
[06 > Wide Eyed and Hopeful (part 1).]
[07 > Wide Eyed and Hopeful (part 2).]
[08 > A Pill to Make You Numb.]
Not that I minded, though. It's the principal of the thing.
"Oi. Name's David. Pleasure."
He brought out his dangly little hand for me to shake, and I paused for a second before accepting it. It wasn't too slimy, which I suppose is a good thing. Still, the weasel was looking at me with those uncomfortable eyes. The kind that made you want to make a quick exit, but you kept talking yourself down to a nervous shifting of weight in your seat.
The Cafe was your usual bullshit. I wasn't really surprised that... David.. wanted to meet me in a place like this. Full of artsy fags talking about "their next big movie" or dime store philosophy. The colours were dingy greens and pastels, mixed in with the usual shit brown blotted into random places. The guy at the counter had too many piercings to be sanitary and the walls were adorned with wannabe artists... It wasn't my kind of place.
It was then that I realized that I didn't really have a kind of place.
David? Yes... David. He got us Cappucinos. I wasn't impressed frankly. He seemed to like it though, and it was his tab. Whatever.
"So, Tracy, what should I know about you?"
The fucker had a grin a mile wide when he said it. I wanted to hit him with my industrial-strength purse right across the face, and watch the cigarette fall into his cappucino. Preferably alongside some blood and maybe a couple of teeth.
I settled for a deep breath and a rebuttal.
"I suppose that depends on what you're expecting of me."
Apparently, even my best deadpan expressions come of as flirting. He got that twinkle in his eye that guys get when they think I'm flriting with them. I idly wondered if the table was bolted to the floor. It was. Damnit.
The questions continued. The same old shit. What's your measurements? Are you single? What do you want to do with your life?
Certainly not fuck weasels like you, dipshit.
I started wondering what it was that had brought me to this point. Friends that kept proving to be self-interested to such a degree that it was a bad idea to even idely hope for help, let alone ask it... Working damn hard in school and getting nothing for it. Deciding that my parents were idiots and trying to strike out on my own... flocks and flocks of the wrong choices in men. The ones who treated you like shit for no discernable reason. Was all of it leading up to this one thing?
My soul kept clawing at the back of my mind as I kept lying. I'd like to say I had a choice, that I could make it in this evolutionary experiment that everyone calls a city without having to be duplicious. I wanted to vomit by the time David invited me to a party he was running late to. All the best and brightest were going, and it'd be a career suicide not to.
He lit up another smoke and looked at me. Just like before.
So I cut my preverbial wrists.
"I'm sorry, David, but that's just not my scene."
Cutting my wrists killed David. His eyes went dead as he looked away from me. He didn't speak a word as he took another drag off his smoke and looked about to see if anyone else had noticed what I had said. He's embarrased? I was the one stuck beside him for an hour and a half.
He didn't even look up at me as he fished his fat black leather wallet out of his pants and smacked a few bills on the table. I barely saw him put the wallet away as he grabbed his fashionable 'faux leather' jacket and made a B-Line for the exit.
He turned back to me at the door, though. He turned back and just looked at me. I found my eyes drawn to his for just a second before he walked out that door. My heart quickened and I think my palms started sweating. I wasn't attracted to him, was I? No. No no no no. I couldn't be, could I?
Regardless, I never saw him again.
That weasely bastard. Just once I'd like there to be a clear line between an Interview and a Date.
(GALLERY OF FEMININITY: A collection of images of various women from the LiveJournal Random Image Generator turned to Stories. Short blurbs that are introspection into how Women affect men, society, and vice versa. I don't know how long this will last per se, but I hope to have one a week until it is done.)
all but the image is (c) 2005 Eric Logan Taylor.
[01 > Night Cap.]
[02 > The Road to Metamorphosis.]
[03 > Defining Perception.]
[04 > One of Many.]
[05 > Locked in Stasis.]
[06 > Wide Eyed and Hopeful (part 1).]
[07 > Wide Eyed and Hopeful (part 2).]
[08 > A Pill to Make You Numb.]