Weblog entry:
- Prospectives
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We talk in circles toward Chicago, plotting weekends of drinking, smoke-breaks, good music. There’s almost a nervous titter (yes, as in the schoolgirl kind) underneath our voices as we discuss plane tickets and timelines, as though we were afraid an adult was going to walk in on the conversation and call off our plans. Our excitement’s punctuated by the long, slow drags she takes on her cigarette, and then we’re off again, chattering about available weekends with so much energy you’d think we’d never paused at all. She tells you how much she enjoys the CD you made her before she left, you tell her that you fell asleep last night listening to the first mix she’d made you — a cassette tape so old and overplayed that it hissed petulantly as its reel wound through your stereo. It did so throughout the evening, clicking off long after you had, leaving your apartment quiet once again.
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- 16th day of September 2003.
- Filed under Story, Memory.
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