I’m sad that I haven’t posted here an a while. I’m working on expanding a short story into a novel. While I am enjoying that, I hate not having short creative spurts to share. Here are some things I did while drinking a beer this weekend.
The chaotic thinker dribbled his thoughts down the sidewalk past the brick church and over by the steel playground. The wind chilled his ambition, but teased his soul. He stopped by the old oak tree at the park. Bravado brought him down waist deep in soggy sensibility. He sank into the wild currents of his mind. Even she couldn’t comfort his jittery song.
Perspiration. Sweat. Drops of water clinging to the inside of those cotton pants I found at the second hand store on Rosemont. I’m nervous. I’m anxious. I’m not of this situation. I’m not of this scene. Are you? Are you real, or just a figment of this beer induced dream.
I’ll call you Chardonnay. We will delight in the drink of the afternoon. I will hold you tight like a glass of time slipping into a horribly scented candle. You will cringe at my attempts at casual infatuation. And I will think of sweet potatoes; warm, salted, fried. My dress will be clean and stained and mine.