Pantene Hair Girl part 2
Dear PHG,
can you please be on the train today. I'm having a shit day and it would turn it all around. A pretty face to make my day. Yours.
I wish I could somehow, by some divine intervention, have a drink with you. Like the world was folded like a greeting card and we all slid into the middle, and in that middle was a pub, and I had money in my pocket to buy you a drink. And I would have you alone enough to say something sweet, that you might remember when other boys come and talk to you when I go to the bar or the toilet. And that when I came back you would cold shoulder that stupid fucking jock and his rugby shirt. We can go straight past impressing, and go straight to the good part of getting to know eachother. And I can make you feel like the world is just you and me, for my sake more than yours, and I can hear your stories told with sound effects and hand gestures. The haircut you had as a kid, the friends you left up north, every costume you've worn in the story of your life. And I can rest my fucked up head on my arm and look at your face from a new angle and wonder how it remains so good. Just get me out of my one for one night. And somehow, maybe the jock returns, or it gets too crowded, and we can go, anywhere. Money for a taxi, or even a train or a plane. And no one knows where the fuck we are. Our mobiles are off. And we remember how great it is to meet a new person, with a new voice, a new smile, new skin, new stories, leaving new footprints on old dirt on King St. We can go get a pie at Shakespeare's if you're hungry. And that strange dude who works behind the counter there on the late shift, the only weirdo they could find to do it I imagine, would look at you, and look at me, and not compute why I lucked out. And I'll just give a loose smile and shrug, the way men and boys do to eachother, to say, who knows what the hell these softer, warmer half of the human race thinks, I'm just going with it, ya know? And then who knows. One night spent right could lasts for years. But it's not going to happen and I think I'm just gonna crawl into bed and hope when I wake up on a world other than the one I've been visiting lately.
I love you
Breaking-down Bill
can you please be on the train today. I'm having a shit day and it would turn it all around. A pretty face to make my day. Yours.
I wish I could somehow, by some divine intervention, have a drink with you. Like the world was folded like a greeting card and we all slid into the middle, and in that middle was a pub, and I had money in my pocket to buy you a drink. And I would have you alone enough to say something sweet, that you might remember when other boys come and talk to you when I go to the bar or the toilet. And that when I came back you would cold shoulder that stupid fucking jock and his rugby shirt. We can go straight past impressing, and go straight to the good part of getting to know eachother. And I can make you feel like the world is just you and me, for my sake more than yours, and I can hear your stories told with sound effects and hand gestures. The haircut you had as a kid, the friends you left up north, every costume you've worn in the story of your life. And I can rest my fucked up head on my arm and look at your face from a new angle and wonder how it remains so good. Just get me out of my one for one night. And somehow, maybe the jock returns, or it gets too crowded, and we can go, anywhere. Money for a taxi, or even a train or a plane. And no one knows where the fuck we are. Our mobiles are off. And we remember how great it is to meet a new person, with a new voice, a new smile, new skin, new stories, leaving new footprints on old dirt on King St. We can go get a pie at Shakespeare's if you're hungry. And that strange dude who works behind the counter there on the late shift, the only weirdo they could find to do it I imagine, would look at you, and look at me, and not compute why I lucked out. And I'll just give a loose smile and shrug, the way men and boys do to eachother, to say, who knows what the hell these softer, warmer half of the human race thinks, I'm just going with it, ya know? And then who knows. One night spent right could lasts for years. But it's not going to happen and I think I'm just gonna crawl into bed and hope when I wake up on a world other than the one I've been visiting lately.
I love you
Breaking-down Bill
posted by William Miller at 1:10 pm
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