choose your own adventure
There are stars out tonight.
It was the third time she said it, and each time she said it she sounded a little more excited than the last. All in all though, there couldnta been more than a dozen stars in the sky. Not enough for a constellation even. No dipper, no hunter, no Orions Belt. But she was happy so who was I to rain on her parade?
Yeah, I said. Stars.
It was a good year. The music was terrible and so were all the sports teams, but all the women looked like porn stars and every once in a while someone would get laid. At least thats how I remember it.
We laid on our backs in a circle, forehead to forehead to forehead to forehead, legs out.
We made our own star.
The Northern point of our star was provided by a pair of grey, ripped-to-shit Chuck Taylors. They belonged to Bill. He wanted to talk about hopping freight trains, but there werent any takers.
The Eastern point of the star consisted of a pair of Grinders. They were painted a marble green, with acrylic flames running up the sides. Jarett wanted to talk about death, not the concept or the act of dying, but the romantic figure of Death. Something about a dream he had.
Clockwise, you had a pair of sandals, some knee high boots, and two bare feet next to an empty pair of Converse. Lisa wanted to make out with someone, or failing that, to talk about herself. Donavon wanted to talk about revolution, moreover he wanted to organize one right there on the spot. I didnt want to talk at all. The way I saw it, we were all just looking to make a connection with each other. We liked each other enough, but the fates werent having it, and I felt incredibly lonely.
With no common point to make, we acquiesced and talked about stars.
It was a balmy night, and after a month of sunless days, the rains subsided and the mosquitoes hatched. We swatted hopelessly at out necks and backs. We would have gladly gone inside, but it was too hot to move. It was too hot to close our eyes so we stayed awake and drank and laid on our backs and looked at whatever was up.
We would have probably stayed like that, pairing off or leaving one by one, if something didnt happen. Not something big, but anything at all, like our friend Yosef showing up. He had a bottle of Turk with no cap, and looked surprised to see us.
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IS UP TO YOU!!!
a. Do I bring in a plot device, like mentioning that Yosef's carrying around his father's pistol?
b. Do I send the kids down the traintracks to meet new and interesting people?
c. Do I send in cops to arrest them for loitering/trespassing?
d. Does something totally left-field happen like an alien invasion, werewolf or terrorist attack?
e. Do I salvage the good lines and scrap the rest, pack up and call it a day, knowing full well that it's not the first story I've written about teenagers going on inadventures or feeling lonely together, and it certainly won't be the last.
Listening: Busdriver - Heavy Objects Such as Books
It was the third time she said it, and each time she said it she sounded a little more excited than the last. All in all though, there couldnta been more than a dozen stars in the sky. Not enough for a constellation even. No dipper, no hunter, no Orions Belt. But she was happy so who was I to rain on her parade?
Yeah, I said. Stars.
It was a good year. The music was terrible and so were all the sports teams, but all the women looked like porn stars and every once in a while someone would get laid. At least thats how I remember it.
We laid on our backs in a circle, forehead to forehead to forehead to forehead, legs out.
We made our own star.
The Northern point of our star was provided by a pair of grey, ripped-to-shit Chuck Taylors. They belonged to Bill. He wanted to talk about hopping freight trains, but there werent any takers.
The Eastern point of the star consisted of a pair of Grinders. They were painted a marble green, with acrylic flames running up the sides. Jarett wanted to talk about death, not the concept or the act of dying, but the romantic figure of Death. Something about a dream he had.
Clockwise, you had a pair of sandals, some knee high boots, and two bare feet next to an empty pair of Converse. Lisa wanted to make out with someone, or failing that, to talk about herself. Donavon wanted to talk about revolution, moreover he wanted to organize one right there on the spot. I didnt want to talk at all. The way I saw it, we were all just looking to make a connection with each other. We liked each other enough, but the fates werent having it, and I felt incredibly lonely.
With no common point to make, we acquiesced and talked about stars.
It was a balmy night, and after a month of sunless days, the rains subsided and the mosquitoes hatched. We swatted hopelessly at out necks and backs. We would have gladly gone inside, but it was too hot to move. It was too hot to close our eyes so we stayed awake and drank and laid on our backs and looked at whatever was up.
We would have probably stayed like that, pairing off or leaving one by one, if something didnt happen. Not something big, but anything at all, like our friend Yosef showing up. He had a bottle of Turk with no cap, and looked surprised to see us.
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IS UP TO YOU!!!
a. Do I bring in a plot device, like mentioning that Yosef's carrying around his father's pistol?
b. Do I send the kids down the traintracks to meet new and interesting people?
c. Do I send in cops to arrest them for loitering/trespassing?
d. Does something totally left-field happen like an alien invasion, werewolf or terrorist attack?
e. Do I salvage the good lines and scrap the rest, pack up and call it a day, knowing full well that it's not the first story I've written about teenagers going on inadventures or feeling lonely together, and it certainly won't be the last.
Listening: Busdriver - Heavy Objects Such as Books
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