Friday, October 27, 2006

jumping out of windows with confetti in our hair

neither of us ever sits on the couch. after work he walks outside taking pictures in low light with old fasioned cameras that feel like toys and i work on my thesis and read great jones street or tender goes the night. i am always sitting in the same chair when he comes in. 'i can't sit in that chair,' he says. 'it's too comfortable. i have to sit in this one. i am going to die in this chair.' i sat in it once. the hard bars pressed against my spine. we listen to old country music or the pixies or songs about having three ways with handicapped people. can i have another cigarette? yes. can i have another beer? yes. the phone rings constantly and we take turns reciting the numbers to each other and not answering. people come and sit on the couch and play with the dogs and go and we wonder out loud if we should have more beers. in the morning he will tell me about his dreams while we walk to the train. they almost always involve prescription drugs. someone has discovered a drug to cure isolation or he is living in california with an irish rugby player who is on meds to help him pee in public. i don't remember mine. it's time to go home.
Listed on BlogShares