Long Time, Lots Of See
So, I've been missing. Working too much mostly. Haven't had time for writing either. So I guess I'll share the work I'm turning in for class tomorrow. But first, the rundown of the last week or so:
Worked
Went to school, saw some stuff, liked it, stayed
Took alot of pictures
Drank some. It were fun
Felt better, worse, better, and blah
I just ate some food. It was good
And now, the writing.
“Delores is such an old person name,” Harold snickered to Tony over his shoulder. “I mean, old ladies in Depends are named Delores, not skanks in seer-sucker suits.” Obviously Delores was engrossed in her phone conversation, because she didn’t react to the verbal assault. Tony stifled a snort, and it sounded like he was choking. “Man, you are never going to get her attention. I could tell you I have video evidence of her screwing the boss, and she still wouldn’t’ come out of her communication coma.” Harold laughed at this, but it was forced. He knew Delores was getting paid more because she was between the boss’s knees, and it stung. His own relationship with her hadn’t been outstanding, but now that they were back to colleagues without benefits, he hated to see her happy. Harold stared at the road through the curved glass of his rented Miata. He was a joke and knew it. Even Tony made more than him. The token black man of the firm in his fucking zoot suit like some homeless man. Fucking equal rights bullshit. “Why the grim face man? Life’s good, why not smile?” Tony threw from the back seat. “Fuck both of you.” Harold spat as he ran over the curb and hit the light pole. Tony was thrown from the back seat, just like his words; Delores through the windshield, her phone ripping her right ear off as she clung to the only solid object before she hit her last solid object: cement. Harold was the only one still in the car. He had his seat belt on. A suicide attempt with a safety belt on. However, he lay limp. The air bag had caught his face, but the belt across his chest broke a rip, and it punctured his heart. They all make the same amount now; the bigot, the black, and the bitch.
There you go. I'll try to be more punctual from now on.
Worked
Went to school, saw some stuff, liked it, stayed
Took alot of pictures
Drank some. It were fun
Felt better, worse, better, and blah
I just ate some food. It was good
And now, the writing.
“Delores is such an old person name,” Harold snickered to Tony over his shoulder. “I mean, old ladies in Depends are named Delores, not skanks in seer-sucker suits.” Obviously Delores was engrossed in her phone conversation, because she didn’t react to the verbal assault. Tony stifled a snort, and it sounded like he was choking. “Man, you are never going to get her attention. I could tell you I have video evidence of her screwing the boss, and she still wouldn’t’ come out of her communication coma.” Harold laughed at this, but it was forced. He knew Delores was getting paid more because she was between the boss’s knees, and it stung. His own relationship with her hadn’t been outstanding, but now that they were back to colleagues without benefits, he hated to see her happy. Harold stared at the road through the curved glass of his rented Miata. He was a joke and knew it. Even Tony made more than him. The token black man of the firm in his fucking zoot suit like some homeless man. Fucking equal rights bullshit. “Why the grim face man? Life’s good, why not smile?” Tony threw from the back seat. “Fuck both of you.” Harold spat as he ran over the curb and hit the light pole. Tony was thrown from the back seat, just like his words; Delores through the windshield, her phone ripping her right ear off as she clung to the only solid object before she hit her last solid object: cement. Harold was the only one still in the car. He had his seat belt on. A suicide attempt with a safety belt on. However, he lay limp. The air bag had caught his face, but the belt across his chest broke a rip, and it punctured his heart. They all make the same amount now; the bigot, the black, and the bitch.
There you go. I'll try to be more punctual from now on.