shofiebot
me and mary jane, we had a falling out. i didn't really want to hang out with her anymore, but i wasn't just going to drop her cold turkey. now i ain't hating on mary jane, 'specially 'cos of all the friends we got in common, but i just don't want anything to do with that anymore.
i went to put my clothes in for a wash at the laundromat. it was nice there; it smelled like detergent and baking soda and peeling ceramic tiles. i met my last boyfriend at a laundromat, but not this one.
bravery, what is it? something i'll never be. my fear of spiders is constantly there and extends to my refusal to even be in the same room as one of those hideous eight-legged fiends.
he was wearing a tattered old suit that was covered in mysterious stains. it had some sort of brownish-orangy plaid pattern on it that was actually pretty repulsive when stared at too long. my eyes began to water when the homeless man in the suit began digging through our trash in a futile attempt to find some food for his dinner.
the sandals were brown, and made of leather. i had seen my father wear them, not in real life, of course. only in pictures. back when he was a liberating, free for all hippie. i never got to know that man, because now the only leather that he wore was on his italian made dress shoes and watch strap.
gold and purple, it had its own special spot atop a table in her room. what did it mean? i could never guess. it was dusty; i guess she never wiped it off. or touched it even. as i brushed my fingers across the lantern, they left a few paths indented in the dust. was i the first one to touch this in so long? then what did it mean to her?