His Little voice exclaims a ‘no’ while she calmly tries to quell his concerns.
This continues back in forth and they are completely oblivious to the strangers piqued ears closing in on their intimates.
I walk at a slower pace trying to catch the rest of the conversation, magnetized towards their story and the soft melody of my first language.
I smile as I realize that my culture isn’t completely lost on me.
As if I can still proudly flash my membership badge.
It is my mother’s tongue which I once foolishly deemed as irrelevant.
Oh, how foolish youth are.
For I would exchange anything to have listened so intently to my own flesh and blood.
But instead, I, with calestine ears follow strangers of the same heritage.
I can only hope his membership badge will always remain genuinely intact.
And listen to his mother about getting the braces…
Remember how I used to drive you to Walmart when you wanted to do late-night shopping? I give anything to do that again.
Acrylic nails. Why? I’m sitting next to this blonde and she is clacky clack on her laptop while I am subjected to hearing that awful noise. And you can tell she is the type that loves her acrylic and especially that sound that it makes everytime she touches anything. As if she is a force to be reckoned with and requires an announcement of some sort. They personally look cheap to me and ironically require quite some finance to keep up the habit (which maybe she should consider purchasing a book of some kind). Can you just imagine all the shit that they can’t do because of those nails?? They probably have the notion that somehow it adds class to their persona, like how some go to the Cheesecake factory for a ‘fancy meal’. Sigh, wake up girls and smell the acetone.
I don’t ask much of life. We grow into ourselves and carelessly develop guilty pleasures that make life a bit more bareable. Frasier is one of mine. When others stumble upon this addiction of mine, they immediately scoff and continue to mock me for being a middle-aged white man (neither of which I can remotely identify with). This show is funny. Its clever and always entertaining, so back the fuck up and let me have my Frasier.
The humor is in its title already. A friend and I were walking into a Borders and I, in my usual fashion, laugh. Mu friend turns to me with the ‘shh’-death-eyes. She straight-up ‘shh-ed me. What the fuck? Can someone explain this to me? When did Border’s get the respect and behavioral code of a library? You are purchasing books in a store which you will undoubtedly leave and return to the comforts of your own home where you can demand silence. But not here, Buddy. Somehow, in this bizarre world, we have equated a library with a bookstore chain that has done but reduce the value of literature, in all senses. If there wasn’t any indication that Mr. Borders wanted you to plant your ass in his store, then there would be more seating. So next time you want to sit quietly and undisturbed in a Border’s, try your local main library.
