June 2010
12 posts
J: His name is the dentist, I swear to God. T: I don’t want to find anybody for 2 ounces of weed named The Dentist, in no way does that sound like a good idea. J: White Widow, period, the end. T: Yeah, Lily and Amanda will be White Widows whenever you and I decide it’s a good idea to find “The Dentist”
He said something along these lines: I work at this Diner to pay for school and my degree, and that’s something that I always keep in mind. When the cooks in the kitchen get bitchy or the other servers get stressed out and create a stressful atmosphere I pay no attention to it. I used to bite into it, I used to get angry and argue with them about everything, whether or not I knew I was right...
The night dissipated when the pinks and purples flushed through the clouds and bled a thick morning sky over the horizon. Shortly after the cigarette smoke was swept into the atmosphere, though not before manifesting its residual sin deep into our lungs, we left and drove underneath the pseudo canopy of rooftops and treetops alike. The birds chirped their salutations for our departure, likely with...
He was a pizza boy, in the sense that he balanced a pizza box on his handlebars and by the looks of him he’d maintained a balanced diet of pizza. Far from an enigma, he seemed to be a hard product from the massive imbalance of childhood. Childhood, itself, is an enigma, yet through so many children the enigma is lost to that same sense of childhood in its enigmatic state. Children cannot...
She’d have tan lines, stark and dramatic tan lines. She would have those tan lines that women used to have before tanning beds. Before people caught rays in solar coffins. Her hair would root out from her head in a wavy mess, just like the way her days pan out. She would walk the streets of Philadelphia without a destination in mind. She would stop for the little things, beautiful things...
The approach, slip in sly and undeniably cool as James Bond would. You fill her waist with your palms and pinch her midsection with only your index fingers and thumbs, clamping down like a crab and you reel her into you, pressing hard against her back, no turning back now, you’ve got her. Sneak it in, like the stubble of your jawline subtly stumbles its way into her bare one. Smile a bit,...
The Harlem Globetrotters record is roughly 23,000-345, yet their website attests that all of their exhibition games are true games.
