SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

Profile - Archive�- RSS
Guestbook - Email - Diaryland

Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Thursday, Jan. 08, 2004 @ 3:02 am
Lucky



Tonight, rain lets up, and lets me walk through Gastown hood down and head up. The old clock is steaming and the fishy fountain frozen. Past the Purple 0nion, candles flickering, and the two cops push me away with their eyes. I imagine the gunshot there echoing down the cobblestone street.

Later it's the typical sort of show, the guys and the groupies and the drummer has his hand on my leg. Julia makes me chug two pints straight off. It's industry night, gortex-clad liftees and boys I've known since primary grades. Blake, I played doctor with Blake!

We're driving home, I get shotgun, three in the back. The wheat pool and the rollercoaster, the automall bright white.

All night I'm stupid awkward. I'm like that, quiet and thinking, it's just normal. And thinking even more because I have an interview tomorrow with the cancer agency. Out of the blue. Charmed, I still think, I ask and I recieve. You're the unlucky one, because you didn't take inf. up on his offer of a movie. You didn't get to see him paranoid about his CD's and you didn't get to see his funky pants. And you didn't get to sit next to him during rambunctious sex scenes.

Overall it's good though. Music and people, it's all about the people. Cross your fingers, I just might get to quit my job!


Roots | Shoots