The She

Met the She last night. She was last night. She had a sharp wit honed in the time of laughter and avoidance. She is unlike those around me in that Hers is more a life of avoid which is a utter mystery because Her vision will strike a strong man down. Where She is now no one knows for real. Perhaps the guitar player at the morning cafe.

If I could only remember the things she said. Yes! About gong for a walk. She sits upright. American’t raised albeit not from her mother but instead from her gurlfriend. And the wit. The very short stories of humour and experience would burst out as if rehearsed and (would/could) land just below my left lower eyelid … (Is there a name for that part of the eye (lid)?) … like a minuscule raindrop or the lost spit of a colleague lost in discourse. She was asked, “We’re going in to town, do you want to come?” Someone else said, “yeah, I could use a walk.” “A walk?,” she injected. “How ’bout we drive?” “It’s only a fifteen minute walk–or so”, someone else said. “I don’t walk; that why I have a car,” she said. “But walking is good for you,” yet another someone said. “The only time I walk is when I’m with a dog,” she said and then added, “I have a car.”

All the talk of shitting last night. And Brown … something and AC/DC and Edison and someone else who fiddled with electromagnetic something…

Something of interest that I cannot realize: Apt. furnished studio for rent. <phone number excluded to protect the innocent; and don’t bother looking for the original notebook this is transcribed from>

Rant on.

-Tommi