SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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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


Sunday, Apr. 11, 2004 @ 3:34 am
Arts-County-Fair



Deep in the heart of the Fair I revel in the pressure of a thousand bodies against each other, myself and the stage. You just let yourself go with the crowd, ebb with the alternating push and pull of the music.

We stumble around with slopping cups of beer, feeling old, feeling out of touch with the students, because we aren't students anymore (or yet) and eventually we leave.

The bus sways and expells us onto Granville Street, us clutching our stomachs and heads. They go in for coffee (?!) and I slump onto the sidewalk and breathe. In the next door well is a homeless man, he looks at me and winks. Me with my I-Lost-My-Hair-Elastic mosh pit hair, with my 1/2 mickey of vodka + 4 beers nodding head.

I'm swept onto the Skytrain and then we're running beneath the tracks into the Ghetto. We go to a hotel bar and eat. The boys drink more (?!).

I pass out in their living room. "Hey Shan, are you awake? Were you serious about wanting to cuddle?"

In the darkness we hold onto each other, very much aware of each other but so careful to not overstep. Friends, friends, but you've twisted your toes up with mine. Friends, I pushed my nose into your neck. Friends, we slept all night holding so tightly onto each other. Friends, we never even kissed.

Eric says, "His eyes light up whenever your name is mentioned."

Did that night even happen?

Big Time Saturday Night


Roots | Shoots