cinnamon toast cuz i got none of that greek yogurt

"bitch got pregnant.   and then that slut went and had a fucking abortion." - a living breathing male, to his four male friends, at my restaurant. 

                            

nell and william.  friends for life.

"when you wake up with crumbs in your bed"





today i woke up to overcast skies with nowhere to be until work at four o'clock.

i watched the last half hour of a movie i started the night before.  in the last half hour, one of the protagonists unsuccessfully attempts suicide, and the other dies of natural causes alone in his apartment.

i decided to order in.

the thai restaurant by my house wouldn't answer my call, so i had to call back.
and back.
and back.
and back for fifteen minutes.

i placed my order.

after i called my dad.  he was busy.

while waiting for my food, i remembered that i had to be in time square at three o'clock to return something i had borrowed.  so i threw my laundry in the wash.

my thai food arrived.  i ate it.  i picked out a new book to read. (that seemed like the right thing to do).

five minutes before i had to leave, my clothes were ready to be taken out of the dryer.  my only pair of nonripped jeans were still damp. i put them on. i hopped on my skateboard to ride to the train.

i arrived underground as two trains that i could have taken left at the same time. while waiting for another train to come and take me an hour away to time square, i realized i had forgotten my book.

the train came. i got on.

halfway to time square, the train stopped at wall street and was terminated without explanation. i got off with everyone else.  i waited for the next train with everyone else. the next train came, but there wasn't room for everyone. so i gave up on time square and decided to go above ground to find somewhere to get some frozen yogurt.

i skateboarded uptown through the financial district.  nothing about the financial district likes stakeboards.

i avoided potholes.
tourists.
tourists on buses.
police baracades.

i made it to sixth avenue.

finally, familiar territory.  and i fell of my skateboard.  more accurately, i flew off my skateboard after twenty three years of not falling off a skateboard.  i landed face down in the middle of sixth avenue.  i yelled 'fuck me'. i ripped my only pair of nonripped jeans. someone asked me if i was okay and i said that i was even though i wasn't.



i'm five blocks away from sixteen handles.  i get back on my skateboard.  i make it one block further before i have to stop at a red light. i am stopped, waiting for the light to turn green. i hear someone yell my name.  i turn around and see jack.

jack is the man i have been sleeping with who i met on grindr and swore i would never see again after i deleted his number from my phone the night before when he asked me to 'remind him of my name' as we were saying goodbye.

now he is wearing a helmet and biking across sixth avenue.

i say i am on my way to work.

i make it to sixteen handles.  i am sweating under my too-heavy fall coat.  they are out of 'euro tart'.  they are blasting an episode of 'the fairly odd parents' on a flat screen tv. it is an episode i have already seen.  i am the oldest child here by about seventeen years.  i finish my frozen yogurt and head to work.

--



i keep hearing my name being called in public.  what could that be a coping mechanism for?