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Apr. 28th, 2005 08:58 ammy train was full of emo boys this morning
hoodies and depressed body language for several feet in every direction
hoodies and depressed body language for several feet in every direction
Apr. 28th, 2005
(no subject)
Apr. 28th, 2005 07:41 pmThe guy that runs the small grocer's down the block took a minute to prep the sandwiches on the counter, before asking the kid with him to go grab a tomato from the crate in the produce section. Which he did, stepping by me and revealing french rolls sliced in half, and laid over with a layer of avocado slices. I mmm'd politely, and the guy shrugged, and turned to take care of my purchases (eggs, can of green tea, red pepper lemon tortilla chips), "Eh, you know!" I grinned.
"How are you, sweetie? Haven't seen you for a while! How're things going? You doing alright?" His familiarity was a little surprising. Not unwelcome, not at all! I was just surprised at the warmth, as casual and small as it was. I smiled and said I was doing just fine, things were OK, and I suppose that's really the truth, when you come right down to it. I asked him the same, and said that those looked like good sandwiches, and he again shrugged, and said, (please, color this thickly with a Chicago accent as strong as can be) "Wellll, you know, wit' the Greek Easter, you know, there's no meat! So, you know, you gotta go without. Eh! Eh!"
"Aw, man," I smiled in sympathy, "I guess you really don't realize how you miss it until now, eh?" He nodded, and pawed the bills into the register, counting back the change in this efficient, gruff manner, as if he understands exactly what money is, its reality.
I took a walk. It was chilly enough out that I didn't worry about the eggs, and I went south a few blocks, and then west, and then I headed back up north again, north of my apartment building, to where the streets start aligning with the crosstown, and the alleyways are a little strange, and each block has its own personality.
My neighborhood's really quiet. I never realized, because my building faces out on a fairly busy avenue, but just a couple blocks in either direction it's peaceful and shushed and even a little green, with the older trees reaching up, and some gardens crowded with either trellises and plots of green, green grass, or massive amounts of religious iconography. Sometimes, they'll have both. I smelled woodsmoke about 3/4 of the way through my walk, and it smelled crisp and real and warm, especially as my fingers were beginning to get really cold, as well as my nose. I walked past a neighborhood bar called Ski's Lounge, and an older Polish man was mowing the lawn, presided over by an older woman, both thick in the middle and settled in their faces with satisfaction at everyday life. Cut grass smell, woodsmoke, cold air, the shampoo scent in my hair, a tiny bit of car exhaust.
I walked maybe a mile or so, and wound my way back through the blocks to my door, cold keys in the lock, jacket hung, nose blown, a feeling of faint euphoria layered over my shoulders and my eyes.
"How are you, sweetie? Haven't seen you for a while! How're things going? You doing alright?" His familiarity was a little surprising. Not unwelcome, not at all! I was just surprised at the warmth, as casual and small as it was. I smiled and said I was doing just fine, things were OK, and I suppose that's really the truth, when you come right down to it. I asked him the same, and said that those looked like good sandwiches, and he again shrugged, and said, (please, color this thickly with a Chicago accent as strong as can be) "Wellll, you know, wit' the Greek Easter, you know, there's no meat! So, you know, you gotta go without. Eh! Eh!"
"Aw, man," I smiled in sympathy, "I guess you really don't realize how you miss it until now, eh?" He nodded, and pawed the bills into the register, counting back the change in this efficient, gruff manner, as if he understands exactly what money is, its reality.
I took a walk. It was chilly enough out that I didn't worry about the eggs, and I went south a few blocks, and then west, and then I headed back up north again, north of my apartment building, to where the streets start aligning with the crosstown, and the alleyways are a little strange, and each block has its own personality.
My neighborhood's really quiet. I never realized, because my building faces out on a fairly busy avenue, but just a couple blocks in either direction it's peaceful and shushed and even a little green, with the older trees reaching up, and some gardens crowded with either trellises and plots of green, green grass, or massive amounts of religious iconography. Sometimes, they'll have both. I smelled woodsmoke about 3/4 of the way through my walk, and it smelled crisp and real and warm, especially as my fingers were beginning to get really cold, as well as my nose. I walked past a neighborhood bar called Ski's Lounge, and an older Polish man was mowing the lawn, presided over by an older woman, both thick in the middle and settled in their faces with satisfaction at everyday life. Cut grass smell, woodsmoke, cold air, the shampoo scent in my hair, a tiny bit of car exhaust.
I walked maybe a mile or so, and wound my way back through the blocks to my door, cold keys in the lock, jacket hung, nose blown, a feeling of faint euphoria layered over my shoulders and my eyes.
