ChessThe buildings are tall. I'm sitting on a stone railing in a stone courtyard. The buildings surround me, so I'm not sure how I got here. Everything is grey. Even the clouds are grey. A kind of pre-rain wind is brushing by. Until it does rain, I'll remain sitting here. I don't think I have anywhere to go, so there isn't any point in exploring.
A girl walks by. Her skin is a very tan. Her hair is a sharp copper brown. I might've expected a more alluring outfit, but jeans and a small grey hoodie won't get me thinking any less of her. She looks at me with beautiful black eyes and smiles with a very cute smile. She doesn't stop to say anything to me. She keeps walking.
I follow her. I'm not sure what's compelling me to do this. It's kind of creepy for a man to follow a woman; I don't want to give her the wrong impression since I sure wouldn't mind courting her. As I follow her, remaining a solid few meters behind her, part of me is thinking she wants me to be following her. Maybe that's just
The Agent There are 99 coffee shops in downtown Washington DC. 45 of them are Starbucks. I'm continuously surprised about both of those numbers. I see this stat at least once a week, not sure where but I see it none the less. Each time, the surprise remains. I see coffee shops on every corner and every block. I guess this city isn't as large as I thought.
I don't even know why I know this. I don't even drink coffee. I drink a lot of hot chocolate. I guess I also like paying a crap load of money for a decently sized cup. And I guess there's something to be said about a young male adult in a coffee shop. It kind of feels like I belong here. Plus there's heat in coffee shops. Heat is nice.
I'm at one 45 Starbucks, one of the few in Dupont Circle, after spending close to six dollars on hot chocolate. That hot chocolate is waiting more the feeling on my tongue to return, so that it may scorch the taste buds once again. I'm scribbling on a note pad. It's mostly useless gibbe
Lucky OneThe world goes blurry, real fast...
I fell, tripped over someone,
my legs got caught in all the bodies;
I'm not sure how I got to stand there.
My head crashed onto the ground.
The world heard it.
Someone got me onto my knees,
that was the first thing I remembered.
The back of my head throbbed,
my breathing got heavier.
They made me keep my helmet on,
asked me where I was, what day it was.
I answered to the best I knew.
My head weighs a ton;
I can't keep it still,
despite the pain caused by
trying to turn it.
It all went away in a few hours,
and I fell asleep that night.
It's been over
for sometime now.
But do these things
Let's Do ThisDown to High Street, Pleasant Street, maybe Walnut for drink specials; they don't mind we're 18.
Or maybe off to Grant, McClane, or on Beechurst, his bro has a keg and cups to spare.
The way our lives conformed to these questions
Is almost interesting. Almost.
Fridays were always for friends and all things freedom. That much is never changed, and may never will.
He is our ring leader. Same shit, different day. Different people, different houses, different clubs. But it plays out the same way. Drink, party, repeat.
He is the fresh recruit. They say you never forget your first time; the adventures we created for him will forever be cemented with him.
He is unleashed animal. Free from the oppressive domain of his parents and community, lets his hair down and his shirt is un-tucked; just let it ride from now on.
She is weightless. Left her man, left her hometown, now her own woman. Just friends and good times, no strings attached.
He is clueless and eager. The game is understood, thou
Her TouchLeaning against the wall
in her bathroom, alone.
The tears were not coming;
they would have saved his soul,
and he could feel the pain
of being heart broken.
The door had no lock, and
she sat down next to him.
Her fingers danced around
with the hairs by his neck.
That gentle touch was not
the familiar one.
He reminded himself that,
but she thought it better
if he focused his thoughts
on what was under that
little bathrobe of hers.