aeleven

let's go make snow angels... can i put you on my bathroom wall?

the snow is so ugly and grey and hard now, it's cold and i'd love to see your breath hot on my hair. it's ice. two nights ago it was fresh and thens slush under the tracks of yellow cabs running up first ave, passing along the drunks diving into shit bars and rooms full of karaoke sluts.

your tight liitle ass, whispering, "boom, boom, boom, boom..."

"i'm gonna shoot you right down..."

we fought and then sang all night saturday night. snowed in, i watched you wrap up your knives and pack up for the night. how the hell did you get home? you live in an outer borough, that much is obvious. i'd love to have that space, but there's always my roof deck and it's closer. i've fucked up there before when it was cold...

people don't talk like this, it's bullshit. i don't talk like this, ever.

so i shared a cab with some woman tonight. she asked if i was going to the east side. she was in a rush and smelled stale of sweat. she bought me a drink. it might be a beer, or two, if i go to a shit bar at happy hour and buy cans. it might be german. i could make it coffee. that's it, tomorrow, hung over i will buy a macchiato and thank this woman. she told me to buy a cup of coffee. before that i said the cab was on me, well, the company. shit, what did i care? i wasn't paying and i was going her way. she was in a rush to go to the theater. fuck the theater. she asked me if i was an actor. huh? whatthefuck? no. fuck the theater.

i do talk like that...