Apr 27, 2005 19:23
in red square there's some sort of magnet, I'm sure
automatically implanted in those of us who swear we're there to study
not for the smashing social scene
we share mix cds over phonetics transcriptions and sandwiches
and matt who is black with dreadlocks and therefore always expected to play reggae spouts theories on the strokes while laura promulgates her general dislike for all "the" bands
the walkmen transition into tom waits and then to the clash into interpol and of montreal into richie spice into the beatles and I have the headphones stuck in one ear so I can be involved in the conversation while I dance with my torso and watch a rack that should be holding food in the student store
careen across the bricks propelled by some hyperactive phantom, today disguised as the indignant wind
michelle shines her red helmet light at the police man who hurls his light beam her way. she pedals away over gravel and shows me fresh bruises when she gets home. I paint faces into my abstract landscape and somehow get my flip flops onto the wrong feet.