2003-11-19

There is something about riding the train that feeds ennui. I find it very easy to silently ponder my life and my choices to the soundtrack of clickity clacks and crossing clangs. But last night my reverie on my life was interrupted. It was a nameless stop, like any of the others on the parade of suburban communities that dot my journey home. But a girl got on that totally fascinated me. She was just your typical brunette. Dressed cheap. Not in a way that was tacky or available if you bought her a Bud Light and drove a Camero. But in a jacket that was either handed down or thrift store purchased with clothing that was mass produced to have little yellow happy faces roll back the prices. But she had confidence. Confidence and a fashion transcendentalism that would make the most sophisticated socialite in the latest couture seem gaudy and gauche. This thrift store angel in Target pumps who took my breath away. Maybe it was her bravery. I couldn�t face the world like that. Her companion, a shiny trollop who wore overalls when clearly she shouldn�t and no doubt used Pert Plus and White Rain in her style regime and collected Beanie Babies (from McDonalds judging from the size of her hick enshrined ass) noticed me staring, which deepened her unctuous scowl and making her darting piggish eyes sparkle with malice. She no doubt put out early in order to gain acceptance and love, earning her a nickname like Mattress or Futon. Probably Mattress, as she didn�t look like she was that flexible. And so I looked away, and with that, the enchantment was broken. I spent the rest of my commute playing Word Search on my Clie , my brief infatuation bursting like a flash of magnesium to paint a sepia picture for the knick knack shelf of my soul.

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