strolling down 12th st in Boise on a hot dry afternoon, headed for the cold swift water of the Boise river, flapping my slippers upon the baking white sidewalks, my backpack slung over one shoulder. heat radiating off business buildings, a girl walking ahead of me w/ white tank top, see through back; ripped jeans, one rip just below her cheek. i catch up to her quickly, ‘what are you up to?’
her glance is quick and calm, ‘absolutely nothing.’
she is short, trim, w/ a little bra that’s too lumpy for her small breasts. her hair has been died, red, blonde, orange, and now is a mixture, an unnamed color. i’d tell her what i’m up to, killing time while Les Schwab mounts two new tires on my wife’s van, but she doesn’t ask, so i stick with her agenda, ‘absolutely nothing huh?’
‘yeah i’m looking for some people’
‘who are you looking for?’
‘my boyfriend and his friend.’
‘what did you do to your arm?’ i point to two deep scars on her shoulder, almost touching them with my fingertip. each scar is about an inch long & deep. if the cuts ran a little longer they would have intersected and made a sideways ‘v’. her body seems young, unaged, fresh. her shoulder is perfectly molded for a young woman.
‘my cat scratched me.’
‘your cat scratched you? you got a mountain lion for a cat?’
‘it attacked me.’
‘that’s one big cat’ we are nearing an intersection. ‘what?’
‘i was attacked by a unicorn.’ she repeats.
i understand what i already knew, ‘yeah, i’ve got scars like that too.’ i ask if she is of age.
‘of age?’
’18.’
‘no.’
we cross the intersection to a corner music store which looks vaguely familiar to me. i think i’ve been in it before. it’s one where a patron feels pressured to purchase or pontificate on which band he saw where prior to their obscure popularity. she crosses behind me, for the door paneled with music artists’ posters. maybe her boyfriend is inside. ‘take care.’ i head on down to find a place along the river.
her glance is quick and calm, ‘absolutely nothing.’
she is short, trim, w/ a little bra that’s too lumpy for her small breasts. her hair has been died, red, blonde, orange, and now is a mixture, an unnamed color. i’d tell her what i’m up to, killing time while Les Schwab mounts two new tires on my wife’s van, but she doesn’t ask, so i stick with her agenda, ‘absolutely nothing huh?’
‘yeah i’m looking for some people’
‘who are you looking for?’
‘my boyfriend and his friend.’
‘what did you do to your arm?’ i point to two deep scars on her shoulder, almost touching them with my fingertip. each scar is about an inch long & deep. if the cuts ran a little longer they would have intersected and made a sideways ‘v’. her body seems young, unaged, fresh. her shoulder is perfectly molded for a young woman.
‘my cat scratched me.’
‘your cat scratched you? you got a mountain lion for a cat?’
‘it attacked me.’
‘that’s one big cat’ we are nearing an intersection. ‘what?’
‘i was attacked by a unicorn.’ she repeats.
i understand what i already knew, ‘yeah, i’ve got scars like that too.’ i ask if she is of age.
‘of age?’
’18.’
‘no.’
we cross the intersection to a corner music store which looks vaguely familiar to me. i think i’ve been in it before. it’s one where a patron feels pressured to purchase or pontificate on which band he saw where prior to their obscure popularity. she crosses behind me, for the door paneled with music artists’ posters. maybe her boyfriend is inside. ‘take care.’ i head on down to find a place along the river.
posted by maxweed at
2:14 PM
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