marybee

Tomatoe!!

So today I went around downtown singing modest mouse and dancing in the streets. I also bought cigarettes. I have no idea why, I don't smoke. I just like holding something and watching them burn. I want to run around screaming like a mad man and I have no idea where this energy came from but damn it feels good. I wrote this short story. I've always wanted to start a zine but I don't think I have anything important enough to say that hasn't already been said. Any way here it is.


When she spoke it came out in a rush, words crawling over each other to be heard. They lost meaning as one thought drowned into the next. When a response was handed to her she would fixate on the speakers lips nodding her head in tune to her bobbing leg or foot or at times dancing fingers. Normally she would pull at her bottom lip with her teeth, sometimes blistering or chapping the top layers of pink skin. But during more captivating conversations she would rest her thumb in the crest under the arc of her bottom lip and strum at the border of the moist interior of her mouth. Her index and middle finger would rotate as if they picked fast enough notes would be heard. And that is how she could be found on this evening, seated on the worn out leather couch of the beatniks coffee shop, tuning her lip up to the chirping sounds of her companions voice.
I had so many memories lost in the folds of that couch. The leather that had surely once been cold and stiff was now worn thin and soft, the way it had been since I first drank coffee in it. It felt like the skin of a great grandmother, thin and folding, but not feeble. No, it was curiously warm and made me feel sheltered. I would bury myself against its broad back and hold my mug up to my nose breathing in its warmth as random people wondered in and out. They would perform for me all night on the porcelain stage of my coffee if I decided to stay that long. Their suspiciously uncausal causality always amused me.
This girl, who sat so ignorantly defiling my dedicated home away from home, hadnt yet grasped the unwritten rules of the beatnik caf. The game was to pretend you were sober if you were high and that you were high if you were sober but above all, act bored. The cool suave nature both deterred me from coming and brought me back time and again. Im a sucker for a charming smile and a witty joke but its so unlike me that it makes me nervous. But this girl was making me uncomfortable with her coffee jitters and desperate demeanor, there was no happy medium tonight. I was contemplating escaping to the back porch but it was not an easy thing to do. The building itself was compressed between a Thai restaurant and an optometrists office. It was a long rectangular building congested with tables and chairs along with a stage, bar, kitchen, and other random shelves and electronics. The tiny building was well beyond its maximum capacity tonight and I sat at the side opposite to the back patio.
While I was uncomfortable pushing myself through crowded rooms the thought of touching so many bodies on my way through was some how exciting. One last hesitation and I left the fidgety couch thief behind me and submerged myself in the mob of people. Then I was drowning in a sea of limbs, polite hellos, and abandoned chairs. The air was thick with the smell of body odor, clove cigarettes, and a variety of coffee. Although I was doing my best to avoid meeting the eyes of anyone I recognized I heard my name above the low roar of voices and then someone touched my arm. Cindera smiled warmly and I had to smile back. Although conversation with her was normally slow and awkward I always enjoyed it. It was probably because she took it upon herself to rub my back with one hand while she spoke to me. A little weird but, damn, it won me over every time. When the silences got too long she always, coincidently, saw an old friend with a sore back and in dire need of small talk. Without anymore interruptions, I reached the glass, iron framed door that lead to the brisk desert night. Outback the environment was more intimate and demanding; people expected you to interact. For now everyone was gathered in circle singing some shitty Eagles song to an acoustic guitar. I lowered myself into a painted wooden chair and molded the dirt with my feat. The rhythms from inside carried through the thin walls and melted nicely together with Hotel California. I sat lower and tilted my head up towards the cloudless, moonless night. The noises of traffic were weakened by the clamor of people and dishes but its presence was soothing. I needed nothing but what I already possessed; I was content.