(no subject)
I am done with school life. Last night I met up with a bunch of SU kids at this ghetto place called Vito's. I imagined the door man as a killer from the Italian mafia, while on the inside I found a bunch of Asian kids thinking they were black, dancing like there were burning coals underneath their feet, sliding this way and that way, gesturing gang signs. Ruben and I filled the role of the commentators. she's going in for the kill! And I was itching horribly, like a thousand ants were crawling on my burnt skin, and I just wanted to stand up and yell something that would shock them out of this trance, a mild case of turrets. Everyone reminded me of empty clay shells constructed from the same substance, a shadow of the next homie next to him. Their movements became forced, a gyration of the hips from one lady to incite her prey, a nod, an unsuccessful scratch from the dj. And I realized that nothing would happen, nothing could happen. They were all dead and empty.