It's a saturday night, and I rarely write in this tense. Nor do I ever freely bash anyone teenager style. Hell, I wouldn't know the shorthand. Two, perhaps three, individuals followed me to this café nonetheless, and will be roasted in a honey glaze, later on. Lucky for my writing, I am not glazed over from any sort of van ride. I chose not to hitchhike. I really didn't have the energy to bestow a condensed personality to a car full of impulsive young ones. A black cat had crossed the sidewalk path, earlier in my journey. Flagging down cars might not be the best way to avoid the man who lurks down every alley. It's, best to stay inconspicuous. These guys really do look like the cartoon silhouette on the neighborhood watch stickers, except with a tilted baseball hat. There's no neighborhood watch sticker on the door to this restaurant. There is only speed dial to "taser guns mean big fun!" I stopped at McDonald's before coming here, another saloon waiting to happen. I ate a $2.49 meal in place of the more expensive one I could have eaten at this café. I was pretty sure I had spotted my nemesis on a date. He sure cleaned up well. But this couldn't be him, not juvenile enough. I'm sure he'd assure me, he hasn't been a juvenile since such and such a year. I nervously ate my ice cream cone, given first! I am terrible with faces, and the right hat can really set things off. In any case, I continued on my journey feeling as though I had avoided great peril. Or, at least I had reduced the chances of seeing another man of my nemesis's description, such as the man, for sure, himself.
Or so it would be thought. En route to the restroom I spotted the same twirled cap as at Mickey D's, entertaining two smiling ladies. No fault of his, his double date, or double identity to me that night, I was unable to concentrate. I headed home, checking, paranoid, over my shoulder. The preceding two paragraphs are stamped in bringing the inking of this entry to the present. I have made again the trip to the restaurant, still somewhat spooked. After all, I was called, "Bitch!" only ten steps from the parking lot, from a small van. There's a hope I hold on to, that my fears are unfounded if not irrational. In a city of this size, they are not necessarily irrational. However, so much intimidation precedes the fights that even fizzle. I wanted to pull some of the same acts of profanity and command over the young Christian family of four seated by me last time. There's a older southern belle and her localized mother eating waffles at the next table, now. At least they're hip and metro enough for breakfast at night. Her accent is really something to meditate on, as well. I've brought this entry accurately to the present, the ink in my pen is nearly flowing backward.
Aside from the southern exotica one table down, to be honest, this town isn't offering me much in the way of attractions. Perhaps worse than a young person's Internet scathing, the way that they do... is a deep dark secret Internet log, like suicide note material. Thus far, I'd allow anyone and the mentioned culprit to my fears to read up, though intuition toward context is a must in comprehension. Ha. This all reminds me of how the smartest boy in my grade school class chose to work on farms and railroads later in life. He was cultured in the underground, could appear ignorant, but was for sure crass by choice. He did not need to be told when someone was complimenting him. There is a creature (and this is not a complement to my nemesis) that can require more translation. The creature has a higher comprehension level per capita, equal intimidation level on average, and avoidance tends to center around something inexplicable rather than self preservation. I'm talking about girls. My current attention is on one girl, and I suppose this is healthy. She is an ex-girlfriend from many years past, but we have skipped the stone of knowing for the many years between then and now. I see here in my notebook that I have written all sorts of explanation as to my re-burning for her. She calls me every day with caring in her voice. She's not particularly creative with her time, which I guess is something I wouldn't ever need to validate by my standards. The longest career move she took was working with retarded people, so I guess I'm pretty well covered for any care-taking I may require. She's got this totally hot way of smoking a cigarette. Though, she tells me she's fat now, having gained a great deal of weight since last seeing me. She's kind of built me up to the kill, licking my lips in anticipation. In spite of her pain over it, I will probably only perceive that her face has shrunk a little. People seldom change much in the watcher's eye.
I am invited to move with her, and at a time when my well being feels threatened in my surroundings. It's easy to be skeptical, that it's a fix. I am weighing how much it is an offer, and how much it is a suggestion I am pushing for my own purposes. I consider these in every question and statement I make about it with the girl. I would be five counties between myself and a fist, but then, maybe five feet from an array of tentacles... "I'm kidding, Girl!" I sounded a bit like Woody Allen on the phone to her in the end. I was neurotic, cathartic, even sincere while kidding. I'd heard her voice before, it said, "Make sweet love to me." She gave an itinerary of how it were going to be. Only a hoop or two and we'd be in Shacksville. I was to visit once, and if all's well we move in by her birthday in October. There is more than this, I know. There is nostalgia, which will serve to remind us of our ages. This is potentially a terrible turn-off. We ain't that old, but the numbers look big. A related hurdle is familiarity. I doubt anything will prove mechanically impossible, that's not what I mean. The way we might still clash will sting double having tasted it twice. Once now and once in the past. Then again, we may not take that road of emotions. We might strip down and mock relationship past to that good old time rock and roll.
As luck would have it, the girl's ex-boyfriend showed up on her door, drunk. I imagined him wearing leather and it being pouring rain. I just wonder if it will be my job to stand beside her with a pitchfork, in the future. I didn't like imagining this, I wanted her to deliver the job while reading the Great Gatsby. How ever it went over, I tossed it aside like the many times it had happened to me. Times she's had an existing boyfriend, she's shown up on my doorstep with two suitcases, intoxicated to see me, and I'm not complaining, however... It's actually relieving the girl has gotten herself some needs.
As far as she goes as a whole, she's never hurt me. She's kind of a dough doll though, easy to dig a nail in. I've quote only unquote cheated twice in my life, both times she was living three hundred miles away, she with a brand new boy friend in her basement. We came to a warm, small worded resolve on the telephone that Spring, and moved forward. A couple of years later, two years into basement boy's reign, she confided in me that she had not had sex since last having sex with me. This was refreshing. Dropping off my newly ex'd ex in high school, she was proud to tell me about her new boyfriend's virginity breaking on my bed at last weekend's party. She doesn't like to talk about these things, she's a lady on and off the streets. Sometimes there are couples that I'd rather not imagine in the sheets. Then there are couples that make me say, "Huh, I wonder about all that." We exist out there, the two of us are not a new nor a pestilent animal. I tell her not to worry, that I know she's pretty and probably more spectacular than she's giving her herself credit for (or that I can do justice). She'd probably hate it that I am writing about her, very modest. I could still face her with a manuscript of this entry, my opinions untouched. She fears in ways I do too, but like most with me, is quick to call me out as crazy. She's been called out as crazy as well, takes more medications than I do. There's a chance in Hell that if we don't drive each other crazy, we'll at least do the domestic side of reaffirming one another's state of unreality. That's a lot of worms to end on, but if we do work out --it will be nice to have it drilled in that our minds have gone by the time that they do.