friskin

D and C lve in domestic bliss in a shabby old apartment above the Troy Vision Center. The fuses blow when more than one appliance is running, so they either light candles or timidly knock on the neighbor down the hall's door and ask him to switch the power back on. They entertain guests with games and stories and sometimes dancing, and discuss what a good job their little space heater is doing. They entertain the thought of one of these days washing the dishes that have now overflown from the sink onto the kitchen floor. At four o'clock AM they get up to do their paper route. One person bags and rubber bands, and the other one drives the car. They play gigs at fifty bucks a pop (if they're lucky) and generally seem pleased with being alive.

And me? I'm happy to be a little part of it. I also am envious. It kind of seemed like they were playing house. Aren't they so young?... And yet, if I could, I would probably defintely take that arrangment over living in a little boxy room with a little twin bed and a little desk for homework. I have to keep telling myself, there will be time for everything.

I want to remember this: Having a late breakfast on Sunday with S at Denny's. We sat at the counter. He had coffee and I had orange juice. Cute. An old, old man whose job was apparently to wear an apron and walk around saying crazy, pointedly friendly, and certainly harmless things to the customers, decided it was my turn to be picked on. He was fascinated by my piercing. He said I looked like I was growing horns, like the devil. Something along the lines of....
"You bedda watch OUT! You gonna try ta kiss her and she gonna GETCHA!..... Ohh, I'm scared a' you!"
So I'll probably take it out sooner than later. I hate to frighten old people, even if they are totally nutso.