Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!
Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.
She throws that look over her shoulder - brief pause, passes by. Your heart goes: "Oh shit!" Your brain is even more enraged. She is cut from velvet, carved from eternity - breathless, you watch her turn the corner and your eyes swim. You smell hot dogs and carcinogens. You hear sirens, laughter, arguments, car horns. She is gone again and your back aches. You age so rapidly, you start looking for a guy with a shovel.
Just in case.
She saw you. You know she saw you. You wonder what she thought. You didn't want to talk either, but that is only because of the raw, sharp self-loathing you carry like a matador cape. Her reasons? No way to know for sure, but you can take a guess.
A thousand snapshot memories swarm around you like wasps.
You shake your head and reach for the cigarettes you quit smoking last year. The sky is dull and oppressive, the street is not large enough for you. Not because you are big, mind you - the street is not the problem. It never was. The problem was that you can't fill the street. You couldn't fill her heart with enough love. And you damn sure couldn't fill those shoes.
The ones the guy before left. Hell, he's probably still looking for them.
ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)