iLoveYouWithaKnife
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2002
- Messages
- 8,351
Every single time
I pull up to the car wash,
I end up having to wait
for what seems like forever-
because I pick the same day
that everyone else does
to wash their cars.
I get a chuckle every time
the power sprayer
makes it's round to the
passenger side of the car.
It reminds me of the time
that fucking goof had me
so fucking furious
and instead of taking
every record he owned
and smashing them all
I drove to the car wash.
It must have accidently
slipped my mind that the
seal on the passenger door
isn't working proper
and water leaks in.
I get to the office
and I walk in the door
all temptress like,
because that's what I do.
I'm a different person
when I'm enclosed in these walls.
And he smiles at me.
There's small talk involved
but I'm distracted by the
thoughts filling my brain.
I nervously end the conversation
as quickly as I can
because the temptation
to say something out of line
is to riveting.
So I walk up the stairs,
to my office
while thinking about the time
we had to go
to the eighty year old man's house,
the one who invented
the energy saver.
And as we were leaving
he extented his arm out
for me to grab on to
so I wouldn't fall on the ice.
I grab my reporter's notebook,
pages torn, spiral wire
untwisted,
and I walk back downstairs
to 'double check' on a name spelling
and realize that I could stand
there and watch this man
speak to me about the
complexites of the world
and he's so good at speaking
that his mind and eyes
could be fixated upon me
intensely-
and he wouldn't studder once.
I smile and walk away
again
because this man
is married with kids-
who are probably as old as me.
As I sit in my office
I hear the dollar bill accepter
on the drink machine.
I'd usual poke my head out
of the door
and converse with the
suit standing there-
but it's Saturday morning.
We are the only ones in the office.
I take my film out of the dryer
and size and crop
and change the tint,
print the proofs
and drop them off at his desk,
and the small talk starts again.
But I had to go downstairs
this time
because he needed these
photographs for his feature story.
I pull up to the car wash,
I end up having to wait
for what seems like forever-
because I pick the same day
that everyone else does
to wash their cars.
I get a chuckle every time
the power sprayer
makes it's round to the
passenger side of the car.
It reminds me of the time
that fucking goof had me
so fucking furious
and instead of taking
every record he owned
and smashing them all
I drove to the car wash.
It must have accidently
slipped my mind that the
seal on the passenger door
isn't working proper
and water leaks in.
I get to the office
and I walk in the door
all temptress like,
because that's what I do.
I'm a different person
when I'm enclosed in these walls.
And he smiles at me.
There's small talk involved
but I'm distracted by the
thoughts filling my brain.
I nervously end the conversation
as quickly as I can
because the temptation
to say something out of line
is to riveting.
So I walk up the stairs,
to my office
while thinking about the time
we had to go
to the eighty year old man's house,
the one who invented
the energy saver.
And as we were leaving
he extented his arm out
for me to grab on to
so I wouldn't fall on the ice.
I grab my reporter's notebook,
pages torn, spiral wire
untwisted,
and I walk back downstairs
to 'double check' on a name spelling
and realize that I could stand
there and watch this man
speak to me about the
complexites of the world
and he's so good at speaking
that his mind and eyes
could be fixated upon me
intensely-
and he wouldn't studder once.
I smile and walk away
again
because this man
is married with kids-
who are probably as old as me.
As I sit in my office
I hear the dollar bill accepter
on the drink machine.
I'd usual poke my head out
of the door
and converse with the
suit standing there-
but it's Saturday morning.
We are the only ones in the office.
I take my film out of the dryer
and size and crop
and change the tint,
print the proofs
and drop them off at his desk,
and the small talk starts again.
But I had to go downstairs
this time
because he needed these
photographs for his feature story.
