Another night of staring past the dark, waiting for something to happen. Maybe it was just that I didn't want to sleep yet, but for whatever reason, I found myself wandering. I ended up in my old spot, on the swivel piece at the end of the playground across from SV. I'd been going to visit friends there, but they were having an apartment-wide argument, so I left. And started walking.
I'd been slowly swinging back and forth for maybe fifteen minutes when I realized that I was doing it again. I was waiting. Expecting something. Looking for something.
Was I looking for a fight? A friend? A cessession of my restlessness? I'm not sure. I was just waiting. I didn't know who, or what for. I never do.
11 comments:
OOH this is lovely. Shall you add more?
I think one of my friends and walked past you. Well, anyway, there was someone on the swing set when we walked by. (But I've never met you in real life.) I hope you find what you're looking for, even if you don't know what it is. :d
Add more?
hmm. sounds familiar.
please tell me almo and co. weren't fighting again....
my guess is, lovely, you're seeking the same thing i am... and i'm still waiting.
Add more. You know: revision. Conclusion. Gunfights. Add more!
Basically, I want you to be in a gunfight. So . . . do what you can with that.
I AM a decent shot with a Beretta 9mm. I don't know much about gunfights, though.
Yes, thank you, Robby. That is exactly what I had in mind.
A gunfight is clearly for what she was waiting.
WOW.
Okay, so stop throwing out interesting things and then not expanding on them. I shall follow the example of Ashley Dunbar and just be weird about this:
CAN WE BE FRIENDS?
We could. But I don't see you--see any of you--ever. That sort of puts a damper on the whole friendship business, you know?
Oh, and I grew up on a farm in WV. Thus the familiarity with most handguns. For rifles I typically favor a .22, because even though it's small and the bullet itself doesn't cause more than a straight wound, it can be quite accurate and it's quiet. I don't care much for shotguns.
How's that for too much information? You did ask. Sort of.
Haha, epic. My father accidentally emptied a shell into a couch next to his girlfriend a million years ago in another life, so guns were verboten in our household.
Philip (my younger, butch-er brother) recently inherited our grandpappy's. Dad had a long, dry safety talk with us before we could even put shells in it.
So your upbringing (though geography would not suggest it [rural missouri]) is quite different in that regard.
And as for the never seeing any of us . . . I'm pretty sure I saw you on the promenade and was about to shout your name and decided that you deserved some measure of privacy.
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