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Red Lipstick & Green Ink [userpic]

The Skater Kid...

February 2nd, 2006 (04:20 pm)
current song: Planet Claire, B-52's

Who made me crazy with the drop of his deck each morning....
Just now he swaggered past, with a suitcase on wheels.

Dragged it down the stairs *thunk thunk thunk*
didn't take the lift.

Guess it's time to visit Dad? Mom?

He's about 8 years old, and lives with what I can only imagine is his grandma
in a tiny apartment only a bit larger than my own.

They live behind me, on the third floor.

I have come to adore him, though I do not know his name.
I almost killed him one morning.

I swung open my door,
after the trucks of his deck
hit the cement

4 feet away from my head
on a pillow
in my futon
on the floor--

for what had to be THE LAST TIME.

(walls are meaningless in this construction)

It was a Sunday morning at 8:30 AM...elitistbill was visiting.

Bill choked back a laugh, when I burst out onto the scene,
fire in my eyes.
Bill had been there many mornings when I had just covered my head with a pillow,
and made whimpering noises and soft threats of violence.

I stood there, ready to cut loose on this little person who made my BONES ache on
an all too regular basis. I'd held back long enough, I'm cool--but I'm growing old.
My cool is waning.

I turned on them, standing there in my A-shirt and sweats--and looked into the eyes
of two 8 year old boys, the HORRIFIED eyes...of two 8 year old boys.
He flipped his deck
up into his hand.
And stared at The Crazy Lady.

I flashed-back to a black&white poster of Christian Hosoi, that hung on my wall in 1986...
I'd torn it out of INTERVIEW.

(you know, THIS guy, when he had short hair and a little blonde streak?
And hadn't been to prison yet? *laughs*)

The BLAZE went out of my eyes.
Left me entirely.

My HELL-FIRE attack turned into: Hey, I know--I had a skate board too! But when
you drop that deck outside my window? It POUNDS through my whole apartment. It's
Sunday, and it's early...can you hang onto it till you get down stairs?

And he said: I'm sorry, I didn't know what time it was.

It's cool, thank-you.

Little Bear hasn't dropped a deck since.
That was months ago.
I could have played that SO wrong.

Hope wherever he's spending time this weekend or week...it's fun.
Little boys shouldn't live in tiny holes.

They need room to shred.


Posted by: Bobby (mezaway)
Posted at: February 3rd, 2006 02:23 am (UTC)

Is his name Luka? :D

Posted by: Red Lipstick & Green Ink (ginger931)
Posted at: February 3rd, 2006 02:29 am (UTC)
A Basket Case

Oh--bite me,

Posted by: Bobby (mezaway)
Posted at: February 3rd, 2006 02:35 am (UTC)

How dare you throw an ally sheedy pre-goth glare at me! ;)

Unfortunately, the thing which you so uppercasedly demanded I put away is no less than a pipe with Smoke in its bowl. It will be put away, but at a time of its own choosing, for it is a Holy Relic and is currently in the throes of its own flaming Passion. *puffpuff pass*

And I wasn't leering at the boy, merely making a pop music (was she ever pop as in popular? I dig her) reference. You're the one who called him a skater. ;P

Posted by: Red Lipstick & Green Ink (ginger931)
Posted at: February 3rd, 2006 02:59 am (UTC)
A Basket Case

I wanted you to put the baby Wombat away...
You found the rest.

Wow, just reading what you have said makes me feel high.

Posted by: Red Lipstick & Green Ink (ginger931)
Posted at: February 3rd, 2006 03:02 am (UTC)

you thought I thought you were leering at the boy???

Silly Fraggle.

Posted by: Bobby (mezaway)
Posted at: February 3rd, 2006 03:09 am (UTC)
Paint Huffer

Fraggle. That's funny! (Was it Mopey? Something like that. That Fraggle was my favorite Fraggle to ever inhabit Fraggle Rock!)

Hey Lady next time you're headed in the direction of coffee or beer at establishments specializing in such things (with music, preferably) won't you please give me a shout and glow so I can bask?

Posted by: Red Lipstick & Green Ink (ginger931)
Posted at: February 3rd, 2006 03:51 am (UTC)
Tuxedo Sam

Mokey Fraggle......the poet of the bunch.

And yes.
Yes I will.

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