“It’s in here,” I said out loud, moving slowly and straining to see things. I felt linoleum underfoot, saw triangular patterns painted onto the floor.
“I’d like to keep getting to know you,” I said cautiously, and I heard him sigh on the other end of the line. My room was dark now, my head on my pillow already. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear you say that,” he said quietly.
And while James is clearly better at playing chess and having a cool mustache and riding his bike uphill for a long time and watching sports, I’m pretty good at other things: spinning words, strumming the guitar, obsessing over rivers, finding good coffee shops… it all balances out nicely.
He was, I believe, so intimidated by this well-written rap I’d composed in less than three minutes that he couldn’t bring himself to respond. Oh well.
Friday, February 4th, 2011 (followed by updated entries on Monday the 7th and Thursday the 10th, both written in the… Read more Sparkling and bubbly Italian spritzer water: the throat’s “premier beverage” nomination (also – dog parking, sweater-dog, my orientation at Olive Garden, “food of Mexico,” The Final Snow, and “quality time”).