Sunday, May 09, 2004

Playing on the Escalator

We always seem to end up in a big name chain bookstore 15 minutes before closing. I had been trying to avoid those places before I met him. I was trying to support local indy bookstores but truth be told at this point I would follow him inside anywhere.

We sit in front of a stack and read first paragraphs of books and criticize jacket covers and author pics. We both dream of our own eventual books and each others.

He gets chastised by the security guard who warns him not to play on the escalator because it's dangerous. It's so funny that I have to turn away to avoid laughing in the young security guard's face. He gets irritated with me for not defending him like he didn't defend me the night before at a club when a man was staring at my ass a little too much. He wouldn't even put his arm around me in a protective way signifying some sort of relationship between us. I shouldn't read too much into it, but I inject meaning into everything that hasn't been clearly defined for me. It's part of my insanity.

I tell him I want to sleep with him, not just have sex with him but fall asleep with him, He smells good, really south American. I don't ever want to get out of his car but I'm so tired. We always see each other really late at night, after the MapucheRican is fast asleep. We stay together for hours at a time, most of the time spent in his car. Being with him, in his car, had become a comfy place for me. I shouldn't get too used to it.

Oh yeah and happy mami's day to all the mamitas out there.


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