*6am, drinking coffee with my Dad pre-flight*
Him: Do you think your carry-on bag is going to be overweight with that sewing machine in there?
Me: I don't know....
Him: Hmmm
Me: I wish I had a marsupial pouch. Then I would just be like(suave voice) "This is all me"
-she swirls the wine glass-
Him: What does it smell like?
Her: ....oak, with a hint of cinnamon..... light tones
-he looks at me-
*I close my eyes and inhale deeply*
Me: ... it smells like the last time I slept with a man
Food was a good choice.
Second best choice I made today.
First being seeing you.
She:
is a sort of flawless mirage of Dadaism chaos
the kind of woman you immediately fall hopelessly in love with:
slender and hidden beneath a massive semi-transparent t-shirt
jeans ripped at the knees
combined with a deeply sincere aura of not-giving-a-fuck
her studio:
empty except for a desk
curiously placed neither near the window, the door, or the centre of the room
her designer handbag is flung by the entrance
oblivious to it's own value.
on her desk is a sewing machine
she tells me she could never work in a cubicle again
she's French, I think
and when I slam the window
the glass shatters onto the sidewalk
frightening the photographer's dog
Me: That sounds fun!
Her: It is!
Me: I will try anything once! Maybe even twice
Her(laughing): Ya?
Me: Sometimes even a third time. Unless it causes bodily harm.....but even then it kind of depends how fun it was.
I'm torn between going to see a Cuban band play, or karaoke, or just do nothing, or get drunk and dance around my living room pantless just because I can.