People I'm Next To

I'm next to an effeminent gentleman. He is very fashion concious and looks nice and well done up with fitted clothes and hair that recieves a lot of attention. All this would be unremarkable, except he looks just like a mom from my neighborhood growing up. He doesn't look like a general mom mind you, he looks just like this specific mom. Just like her. Not like a relation, like her, I mean exactly. I expect him to pick up a tray of dixie cups full of koolaid and ask me to stay for dinner. His voice is the same too. God I hated her voice. It was this horrible scratchy voice that would say nice things, but sounded like it was saying mean things. It was very confusing. Now she is here, but she is a he, and not really her. I'm glad i don't have to interact with this guy. I would totally slip up and call him Mrs. Gluvna. He is probably pretty nice though.

I'm next to this blond girl. She is slender and tall. She has on a t-shirt and jeans, and black flip flops. The t-shirt has the outline of a squirrel on it. WE are on a patio, and their is music playing. I can tell when a song comes on that she likes because her feet start explaining it to me. They are explaining it by going nuts. The aren't just tapping along, they have this intense ankle down dance. Some times they leave the flip flops, sometimes they flip the discarded flip flops, once she ended up with the wrong flip flop on. It's hard to stare at this girls feet and not look creepy, but its harder not to look at them. They are sketching this hypnotic patten, it dares me to look. Apparently it dares some of the other patrons to look as well. The guy across from me is covertly looking at her from behind his book. Happy Feet doesn't seem to really notice her own moves though. Her face is scrunched and annoyed with what ever she is looking at on her laptop

I'm next two men. I should say one man and one boy. They are dressed almost exactly the same. A red t-shirt, black shorts,white ankle socks and white tennis shoes. The younger one is wearing mesh shorts, while the older one has graduated to Bermuda shorts. Genetically speaking they are from the exact same stock. It is uncanny how much this kid is just a younger version of the man. Everything about them is the same, outside of the aging process. The older man's hair line is more receded and his skin is a little looser. But other wise its a dead lock. The same sad eyes, the same thin lips, and recessed chin. It's quite possible this man has found a way to breed with out a partner. Both are in similar poses, they are sitting on high stools with their left leg dangling and the right settled on the crossbar. They are leaning over burritos, which I can only assume are full of the same things. They are not eating in tandem, which would make it too much for me to bear.

I'm next to this guy. He is a heavy set gentleman, with a mustache and a strip of beard splitting his chin. I've seen him around enough, that a friendly nod was in order. He responded unexpectedly by asking me what I was drinking. I tried to reply with non-committal ehhs, but he pressed, so I just said water. Can I buy you a bottle? No, I'm fine. No you want a bottle of water I'm gonna buy you one. He then disappears and reappears with a bottle of water. I thank him just in time for him to launch into to asking me about the whereabouts of a mutual acquaintance of ours. He continues asking me question after question, and I keep answering, he bought me a drink after all. Then he says goodbye and gets up and leaves. I felt like a stoolie in a police drama. If I was wearing a red leather jacket and we were in an alley, I think he wouldn't have bothered with the drink and just slammed me into a wall and roughed me up until I spilled what I knew. I'm glad th

I'm next to this kid. His hair is shaggy, shiny and brushed across his face from the left. Not only is it in his face, but it seems to be staying stuck in place, ignoring gravity. His jeans are ripped, torn and tight and his shirt is black with what I assume is a band name on it. The font of band name is distressed and eroded and there are similarly distressed and eroded line drawings behind it. Also he is talking to me, "Scuse Bra, gimmie dime sized forties, Yeah!" I don't know what this means. He continues to speak entirely in indecipherable slang, and looking up at me with knowing glances. I nod. Everything this guy is doing, saying and wearing is something an old man would complain about. He is like the poster child for 'those damn kids', but he seems nice enough. He offers me several fist bumps while he jabbers, which I take him up on. Then after a few minutes of me being confused, yet entertained. He puts his hand straight up in the air like

I'm next to this girl. She has on tights that end above her ankle, a skirt with a red pattern, a white button down blouse, and a smile. Over the past hour she has done a number of things: exchanged small talk, doodled, read, talked on the phone, worked on her computer. Through out all these she keeps smiling the same smile. Its large and it's tight across her teeth, and it goes all the way up to her eyes. Actually her whole body is obviously happy. Like all of her movements end with a little flourish. Like her every part is a wagging tail. Its quite charming. She has given four clues over what she is happy about: on her phone she mentioned that she was excited about Friday (tomorrow), and that she had 'never seen them before', then her computer played a few seconds of some sort of live music before she plugged her headphones in, and she was flipping through a schedule for a local music festival. The logical conclusion is she is seeing a band there on Friday. B

I'm next to this guy in a Hawaiian shirt. He is a thin, kind of ungainly fellow with curly hair and a scruffy beard. He has on tennis shoes, cargo shorts and a pedometer on his arm. His shirt is noteworthy. Its probably the reason for the word vibrant. It is so bright, so bright. It is threatening a fusion reaction. Pink with a pinker floral pattern, when I blink, I see it on the back of my eyelids. Whats more, he looks cool, probably because he looks comfortable. He is unabashed, wearing this miniature supernova like its nothing. He reminds me of the bad fantasy books that I read, when they describe a master swordsman using his blade like its an extension of his body. Thats what this shirt is, part of him. He is a master shirtsman. He is like a bird showing off his plumage, where as the folks around him are all camouflaged. I keep expecting to see him glance down and get startled of his shirt. But nothing, no fear. This brave soul orders a coffee and strides out into

I'm next to this girl. She has long dark hair, high waisted skinny jeans, and a lacey tank. Her mouth, her mouth, her mouth. She is talking at a terrifying velocity. The cadence of her syllables is this unceasing staccato burst, actually, it is amazing that they don't slur together. It is constant sound, whats worse is that she is completely understandable. She may very well be saying as many interesting, reasonable things per minute as a normal person. But she is saying twenty or thirty times more per minute than a normal person. Which roughly means that mathematically speaking ninety five to ninety seven point something percent of what she is saying is utter nonsense. Mathematically speaking The people she is talking to seem used to it, they are going about their tasks pretty much ignoring her. I wonder if they have some sort of auditory highlighter so they can just skim her. She is talking about her socks now.

I'm next to two people. We are sitting in a triangle. I am closer to either of them than they are to each other. One is a woman with a laptop, a notebook and a cell phone, she is dressed casually ,but her clothes are obviously expensive. The other is a small man, who is looking sourly at the woman, he has on a Barack Obama T-shirt on, and is reading a Tom Robbins book. His sour look is because he thinks she is a racist. Laptop Lady is on the phone talking about some business type research that has taken place in China. It seems to be a fairly causal exchange, she is laughing and talking loudly. Her hands are gesturing a lot, despite the fact that the other person on the line can't see them. While she is talking about the country and its people, she isn't actively saying anything offensive. The Sour Man is only barely glancing at his book. He is paying much more attention to this woman's conversation. He is too far away to hear the facts and figures, but he ca

I'm next to an old guy. This guy is pretty old. He is that level of old that has shrunken in on himself, so that now he kind of looks kid sized, but wrinkly. He is wearing straight leg blue jeans, very blue, a plaid shirt, and what may be a John Deer cap. I can't tell if its a John Deer cap for sure because we are both peeing, so I can't get a good look at the front of him. Even if the etiquette of the mens room permitted a close look I wouldn't be able to see, since he is just leaning his head against the wall. I think this guy is dead. When I came in he was in the same position, and it looks like a lot of his weight is on his head. His body is all tight and stiff, he is really leaning into this wall. When I was done peeing I stained my ears to hear if he was making little drip drop noises, but nothing. Not a sound. He was still while I zipped up. Still while I washed my hands. Still while I stood behind him debating whether or not to yell loudly to wak

I'm next to a group of employees. They are mostly youthes, with a boss type. The boss looks like an aging hippie, the youthes look like youthes. At first they were talking about general buisness-y type stuff, schedules, new hires, events, all pretty standard. Then one of them brought up the easel. They have a plan. A plan to make an easel out of twigs. This, they all agree, will greatly increase business. It's all part of a some word of mouth campaign to make their place of business the talk of the town. I could be missing something. I have to be missing something. Regardless the bulk of this meeting is devoted to suggestion about the Twig Easel. Old Hippie votes for it to be made of a certain type of twig wood, and youth 1 seconds her. Youthes 2 through 4 are insistent it can only be pulled off with various types of wood. They are concerned about finding the amount of twigs necessary from just on type of tree. One of them has done some opinion polling on the

I'm next to a gentleman in a white t-shirt which is stretched tight over an offensively muscular body. He has terrible hair, and at least three fillings. I can see his fillings since he is screaming at me. A lot. This is because I turned left. We are at a stop light a block away from me turning left, he in his car, me in mine. We are separated by ten feet and two panes of glass. I'm not going to bother to point fingers about who was wrong in our traffic dispute, but he totally was. Totally. Regardless, what is interesting is the hate. I have all sorts of opinions that I keep to myself, I'm sure White Shirt does too, but in the safety of his vehicle he is not only composing an ode to how much he hates me, but sharing it with me. His spit is on the window, it has an odd yellowish hew. I wonder if he was drinking some sort of soda. This red light is taking forever. I am adopting the strict policy of just staring and lightly shaking my head, conferring a moral high g

I'm next to a guy. He is a coffee bar facing a window, fidgeting almost compulsively while looking outside. He is dressed entirely formal, except his shoes which are flip flops. At first I thought he was slouched but I soon realize that while sitting straight the bar comes up to just under his arms. Which is only strange because of his legs. His legs are phenomenal. There are just miles and miles of them. While he is on this bar stool, feet resting on the low bar, his knees are up around his chest. Its absurd, he is an adult in a world full of chairs meant for third graders. He has to be over six feet tall and his legs must be 4 feet. He is a young tree, I can picture him swaying in the wind. I wonder if he is he is a good hurdler. I wonder if he has to have a special car. I wonder how his heart pumps blood up and down them. I wonder if he shops in the boys department for shirts, and big and tall for pants. I wonder if he was the inspiration for stilts. I wonder if

I'm next to a truck. I'm in the parking lot of a fine dining establishment, the owner of the truck is presumably in said establishment, perhaps dining. In the bed of his or her truck are four items; 2 bikes complete with pink and purple with streamers, a faded green garden hose with a crushed spigot connector, and a battering ram. A battering ram. Who is this person? I picture a man, big. I see him accidentally crushing the brass connector of the hose by gripping it too tight. But gentle, teaching his twin daughters to ride their matching bikes, every second close them full of self control so as to not hurt them with his mammoth muscles. I see him righteous and wrathful, fighting crime with his near unmanageable strength, busting in the doors of seedy drug warrens and hurling the ram across the room at the offensively scuzzy dealers. Drug dealers are usually pretty scuzzy I hear. I see him crying at night, fearful of his own power, every moment a strain against his inn

I'm next to two people, a guy and a girl. The guy is thin with a faded red t-shirt and grey plaid shorts. The girl is wearing a white tank top and jeans. It should be also noted the guy has a knit cap on, and the girl has a scarf on. I should stop here and say they both look very nice, and alone neither would merit comment, but together it looks like they are in a blizzard from the neck up. Maybe each one has a secret though. Like maybe she is recently visited by a vampire, and he is bald. But she isn't shying away from direct sunlight, and he looks pretty young so thats probably not true. I wish it was.

I'm next to a girl, and presumably an another person, possibly a boy, possibly a girl. I can't see them. This is due to the wall between us. Basically my neighbor has a new romantic interest, or an old one who has started to pull out some new tricks because I have started to be able to hear them on a nightly basis. This is impressive dude to the 2 foot brick wall between us, more over it makes me nervous that they have heard me. I was intensely worried about this for a full 3 seconds and then I realized I didn't care. I only hear a female voice through the wall. A high pitched lady voice slicing through the mortar in an unabashedly loud fit of passion. I'm curious if its involuntary or simply unconcerned. I hope its involuntary, if only because my neighbor is nice, and probably deserves to have her volume turned up involuntarily. When I walked out this morning I saw her parents outside. I recognized them from when they helped my neighbor move in. I suddenl

I'm next to a guy in a bowler. A god damn bowler. He is also wearing a white shirt, starkly white, not dingy, a grey pinstripe vest and brown pin striped trousers. I say trousers because the word matches his outfit. The back of his hands are really hairy, and his eyebrows, they are heavy enough to appear fake. Here is the thing, with all of my little tiny soul I wish something. I wish the general populous would all dress like a period piece about the gilded era. No matter what they are doing. Janitors, railroad conductors, lightning rod salesmen. Frankly I wish girls would dress like the men too, cool lady suits and vests. The rub though. This guy kinda looks silly. Is this because he is the anacronaut here? Or is it because this stuff doesn't look as cool as it does in a big budget film. I feel like if I time traveled I would be just as unenthused about the way the majority of people dress. However, I am going to ignore this. I want to believe this would be awes

I'm next to a man and a woman. They are both thin have a dark olive complexion. The man has wild curly hair, and the girl straight and long. They sit across from each other at a table. Currently their feet aren't touching. Their conversation is painfully agreeable. It is evident they are feeling out the possibility of making out on each other's couches. Both are talking nicely about themselves, and the other emphatically nods and says something to the nature of, 'Yeah I know!' at each pause. Its like when one of them has to stop talking to breathe in the other feels the need to shout something positive. It would be one thing if this was a conjunction of fate, aligning perfect souls, but it doesn't feel that natural. It's more like an insatiable need to please, in order to push their couch make out policies forward. Their straining slick agreements are so unnecessary though, their agendas are obvious. The catch is each of them are so busy thinkin

I'm next to a guy. He has shaggy hair, and a blank stare. He is tanned to a dark brown and he has a tight white necklace made of beads. His shirt is baggy, but not big on him, 1996 baggy. I feel most of the surfing that has happened happened in 1996. He completes his look with jeans, white socks and black shoes. I want to hear him talk. I feel like it will come out in throaty idiot tones, with every vowel taking at least 3 seconds longer than it needs to be. He is sitting on a stool, his feet are the only active part of him. They are dancing without the rest of him.

I'm next to a young woman. She has on a black tank top and jeans, her sandles are on the floor next to her, and she has on sunglasses. As we are inside normally this would be silly, but currently it is appropriate. She is fairly well asleep so it makes sense to shade her eyes. It reminds me of cowboys pulling down their hats. At first she was sleeping that self conscious public sleep, jerking awake, cautiously glancing around to see if anyone noticed. That ended in minutes. A bit of drool is slowly rolling down the side of her face, this is a level of unconsciousness rarely displayed to strangers. That's not the dangerous part though, whats dangerous is she has her laptop on her, well, lap. Its just there, balancing on her thighs. Vulnerable, brittle, expensive. What if she dreams, about running, or even if her leg just needs to shift. Anywhere between 500 and 1200 dollars of electronics will wind up making a two foot fall. In laptop feet, thats a lot of feet. Not o

I'm next to a young woman. She has on a dark grey cardigan, with blue trim lining the pockets and the collar. Under this she has a yellow shirt and below this jean shorts, the shorts go down maybe a quarter of her thigh. Its a respectable summer outfit. It does expose a bruise on the back of her thigh. This bruise intrigues me. It is large and purple, and in reality is made up of several smaller bruises. 5 of them, all oval and all about 2 inches at their widest. They are in a peculiar pattern. Four in an diagonal line, ascending from the outside to the inside. The last is vertically alligned with the highest, but lower by three or four inches. It looks like a giant poked her hard and fast with all of his fingers at once. But what really happened? I keep trying to look, discretely. Did she fall of her bike? Does she ride a bike? She looks fit, but maybe not bike fit. Was it was a drunk stumble? Is it from sex? If it is maybe she thinks she should be embarrassed, but

I'm next to an old man. Geographically speaking its more like I'm in ear shot of this old man, but we shared a moment where our brains were next to each other. I'm at a fair, a Strawberry Festival. Although this Strawberry Festival is only a Strawberry Festival the way a Flea Market is a Flea Market. There are no fleas, and everyone is selling junk. But at this sadly Strawberryless Festival the junk is fun to look at, so it is an enjoyable adventure. The old man is selling fried cheese on a stick and its meaty twin the corndog. He is old. Old. Wrinkled and worn, the rigors of the grease trade have not been kind to his complexion. His eyes are tilted down at the outside, lending him a sad look, I mean he looks really down. I mention this to the person next to me and she agrees. As she agrees the old man looks right at me. He nods. It is a friendly nod, I'm sure he is just offering up some polite body language, maybe hoping to charm me into buying something ba

I'm next to a guy, in a light blue shirt. He was wearing the same shirt a week or so ago when I talked to him before, well, when I was part of a group of people talking at him. There is a chance I'm wearing the same shirt too. Despite being young his hair is going grey early. This would give him a refined feel except that he is one of the few people that I've seen who I would describe as snub nosed. It gives him a baby face. The result doesn't look quite right, like he was aged in a soap opera flash forward, or a bad movie about time travel. I confess to a mild dislike for this guy, this is a hold over from hearing him speak before. We were talking about oil dependency, which is a great conversation to have loudly in a public place because everybody knows that we are a doomed race burning other doomed races and for lack of a better word that blows. So usually everybody gets on board agreeing with each other and slapping each others backs and its a harmonious if n

I'm next to a guy with a beard. He has on skinny jeans, dirty white shoes and a bright plaid shirt. He is explaining the difference between two bands, Cannibal Corpse and Cannabis Corpse. The difference is pot. He is chuckling at each sentence with a high pitched unnerving sort of desperate laugh, like a bully's sidekick in a cartoon. He is talking to a young woman who is unfamiliar with Cannibal Corpse, and so doesn't understand the joke of Cannabis Corpse. As such the gentleman is switching tactics, he now is making jokes about having a stylist. The jokes run the gamut from him adopting a lispy 'homosexual' accent to imitate the stylist to him adopting a lispy 'homosexual' accent to imitate himself for having a stylist. Again he laughs that terrible laugh, but still only polite smiles from this woman. He twirls his mustache, and tries again. Dead baby stem cell jokes, no laugh. More gay jokes, nothing. A line of jokes about how he is a nerd for li

I'm next to a turtle. More to come later.

I'm next to some guys. Not only are they more attractive than me but they seem to have cooler interests than me. There are three of them, athletic, stylish men. It is likely they have abs. Two of them seem to be meeting the third to learn what he has to know about hiking and camping a certain area. Not only that, they seem to be bringing children along on their camping trip. They probably volunteering to take orphaned children with chronic diseases on the only camping trip of their life. Something ridiculously noble and good. Maybe the reason they are so good looking is the light of their wondrously decent souls pouring out of them. Apparently, being a good human is a great workout regimen. The gentleman offering advice seems to have worked in a hostel nearby the area of wilderness that the other two are going. They are flipping through a map book discussing which trails would be suitable for the youngsters. He has a encyclopedic knowledge of the area. He is smart

I'm next to a man. He is perhaps in his late fifties with grey lightly thinning hair. It's the type of thinning where it looks like baldness made an effort, but has decided that this hair put up such a good fight that it deserves to keep it's home. He is looking at a website of some sculptor, looks like mostly stone angels and the like. He is tall, maybe 6'5 and dressed in standard office wear. White shirt, khaki's, a crumpled suit coat next to him. The coat being off makes sense, its hot. In fact he is hot, I can tell, he has sweat under his arms and his sleeves are rolled up. Whats more is that his pants legs are also rolled up. This exposes something strange. Ugg boots.