Weblog entry:
- First draft
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with “fuck wallace” scrawled on the bathroom wall in a long flowery script, she sends her smile over and around her friends’ polished chrome laughter. she walks, and with each step beats a hasty retreat back to her next cigarette, a sweet marlboro light rebuttal that closes her sentence and opens her mouth. as she begins to speak, a jukebox rhapsody of drinking stories and sweet-smelling smoke plumes from her, and shortly you stop listening to the words, but rather the words beneath them: the slick-silent hum of things already established, times remembered, things that don’t need to be said, and aren’t. a man brings you your beer, and the two of you shift into a comfortable silence as you settle into your pints.
it’s these things we say that speak less than what we already have — you smile, she smiles back. the story continues, and you each take another sip.
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- 10th day of October 2003.
- Filed under Story, Poetry.
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