We'll go out every night, I'll be there by your side, and we'll all get high on the old west side.
When I drove into the parking lot today, you were standing next to a beat up Dodge Ram.
At first, I didn't believe my eyes. I thought I was staring at some new piece of modern artwork, where juxtaposition is king, because it's not often that you see Venus standing next to a muddy 4x4.
You looked distraught, so I pulled up next to you, and got out, carton of Camel lights in hand. I just had to inquire.
Do you know anything about cars? Mine won't start today for some reason. It was fine earlier this morning, but now I have to go to work, and I'm late as it is...
I popped the hood and pretended like I knew what I was doing. I checked the oil, which was fine. I tried to start it, and all signs led to a dead battery, but I was paying more attention to you, and I'm sorry. The skin on your face did not consist of a single pore; it was smoother than most marble statues standing in those expensive galleries in Paris. I wonder if you sit in front of the mirror before you go to sleep and admire how beautiful your skin is. It's so smooth I want to scream when I look at it. I can give you a ride if you need one, by the way.
No, I already have a friend coming to get me.
This was not a lie, because not two seconds later, someone pulled up. Now I know how Jim Morrison felt when he wrote "Hello, I love you."
I'm Jane. Thanks for your help.
Of course this guy was your boyfriend, that was obvious by the way you touched him when you got in his car. I imagine what you do on weekends. You probably sit around in your pajamas all day on Sunday discussing things like Rousseau's "Discourse on the Origin of Inequality" before finally taking a shower and heading out to the coffee shop to finish your project for your design class. You probably go to see independent films on Friday nights, before heading to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of red wine to enjoy while you listen to the new albums you both just bought. On Saturdays, I'm almost positive you sit in the shadows at Bohemme to discuss things like the political situation in Sierra Leone.
You don't know that this is what life would be like with me, because you're with him, and that's fine. What you don't know can't hurt you.
What I do, can. And does.
I leave a note on your car telling you what the problem is, and how to get it fixed.
At first, I didn't believe my eyes. I thought I was staring at some new piece of modern artwork, where juxtaposition is king, because it's not often that you see Venus standing next to a muddy 4x4.
You looked distraught, so I pulled up next to you, and got out, carton of Camel lights in hand. I just had to inquire.
Do you know anything about cars? Mine won't start today for some reason. It was fine earlier this morning, but now I have to go to work, and I'm late as it is...
I popped the hood and pretended like I knew what I was doing. I checked the oil, which was fine. I tried to start it, and all signs led to a dead battery, but I was paying more attention to you, and I'm sorry. The skin on your face did not consist of a single pore; it was smoother than most marble statues standing in those expensive galleries in Paris. I wonder if you sit in front of the mirror before you go to sleep and admire how beautiful your skin is. It's so smooth I want to scream when I look at it. I can give you a ride if you need one, by the way.
No, I already have a friend coming to get me.
This was not a lie, because not two seconds later, someone pulled up. Now I know how Jim Morrison felt when he wrote "Hello, I love you."
I'm Jane. Thanks for your help.
Of course this guy was your boyfriend, that was obvious by the way you touched him when you got in his car. I imagine what you do on weekends. You probably sit around in your pajamas all day on Sunday discussing things like Rousseau's "Discourse on the Origin of Inequality" before finally taking a shower and heading out to the coffee shop to finish your project for your design class. You probably go to see independent films on Friday nights, before heading to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of red wine to enjoy while you listen to the new albums you both just bought. On Saturdays, I'm almost positive you sit in the shadows at Bohemme to discuss things like the political situation in Sierra Leone.
You don't know that this is what life would be like with me, because you're with him, and that's fine. What you don't know can't hurt you.
What I do, can. And does.
I leave a note on your car telling you what the problem is, and how to get it fixed.