errands.
we've grown used to it, haven't we? this round-about conversation pertaining to pain and loss and suffering and all that bullshit that comes with it.
so open up another pack, and feel the sting of another inhale. we all want to die sometime.
but it's not about that. it's not about the books we read or the movies we want to see or the goddamn shows where we meet even more worthless people to populate our slow times. it's not about where we used to live or how we can't go back there, because we won't. it's not about who we used to fuck or how they left us in most extraordinary ways. or maybe that's all that it's about.
i'll find the tip of my cigarette, as it's fallen under the seat again. i'll reach into the back seat for a new cd. i'll catch my foot on the plastic bag i forgot to throw away.
and i'm crouched in the waiting room, staring into her kennel, and she's staring back at me. and i'm lying to her. i'm telling her it will be allright. but i know all she hears is the overly-nice tone of my voice, and she's preparing herself to be angry at me once they give her the shots. i have to tell the assistant about my soleil, and how she was feral, and how i don't have her paperwork because we couldn't find it in the scattered bits of everything he left on the floor, and how an appointment for her on wednesday would be great, and how dr. gonzo will be angry at me for the rest of the day, and how helpful they've all been, and thank you.
and we drove to the airport with the windows down and sandman serenading because the air and the wind tasted like heat. and we kept driving, and i'm sitting in the backseat with my eyes shut tight against the speed, and i'm thinking, what a good time to be in texas ... when you're moving. and they're laughing in the front seat, and i'm smiling in the back, knees pressed against my chest.
and we ate good food, and he gave me extra cherries in my cherry coke which rockstar knew would make me smile. so he bought me another one.
i sat by myself in the laundry mat, wondering if the janitor recognizes me every time i come in an hour before they close, tapping my foot to the music blaring in my headphones, sweating until it stings, while i folded all my clothes. i stack them meticulously as my hands find the system i've been following for years. i smile at the janitor and give the man in the red shirt outside the sunshine mart a handful of change.
i'm sitting in my oldest t-shirt listening to him play a song that hasn't been written yet. i'm first hand on the scene of the primacy of creation, and i can't help but think how nice it is to hear something new when we had it all taken away nearly nine months ago.
they were only errands really. days still pass.
