(no subject)
i sat, reeling, bored, unable to think of What Comes Next (indeed, what does?). eventually i'd have to return those library books. anybody enjoying them? twisted in my seat and watched a girl named emily leafing interestedly through mexico: a history in art. well, good, I guess. though why does everybody keep looking at the wrong parts? can't they see the scraps of paper i stuck in for bookmarks? or does nobody respect the rules anymore?
emily sat next to my romeo. wish he hadn't bleached his hair. wish he didn't always spike it. is he writing his presentation now? what balls. the book he was taking notes from was striped in bright, frenzied colors. very un-american. very him and our never taken vacations to dilapidated corners of latin america, stumbling over our high school spanish with giggles and purity of intention, our scribbled-on never made mix tapes, our long and mute conversations on revolution and punk rock. very punk rock, actually. his shoes were red.
i didn't realize i'd been staring until he lifted his head and looked me steadily in the eyes. i nodded, embarrassed, and turned my gaze away...couldn't keep from grinning, though.
emily sat next to my romeo. wish he hadn't bleached his hair. wish he didn't always spike it. is he writing his presentation now? what balls. the book he was taking notes from was striped in bright, frenzied colors. very un-american. very him and our never taken vacations to dilapidated corners of latin america, stumbling over our high school spanish with giggles and purity of intention, our scribbled-on never made mix tapes, our long and mute conversations on revolution and punk rock. very punk rock, actually. his shoes were red.
i didn't realize i'd been staring until he lifted his head and looked me steadily in the eyes. i nodded, embarrassed, and turned my gaze away...couldn't keep from grinning, though.