People I'm Next To

The people I'm next to are in a grey minivan. I was riding my bike uphill, not a steep hill, but long and constant. At least that's what I say to make myself feel better about feeling winded while riding up it. Just as I was reaching the top, the grey minivan zoomed past me, and in the brief moment when we were next to each other I heard a fleeting yell. The yell contained the words; bike, you and stupid. Those were the few I could hear, and they were enough to enrage my oxygen starved frame. I am rarely able to use the word incensed, so I am excited about this next short sentence. I was incensed. Now I was going downhill and they were coming up on a red light, so I was excited to catch up to them and give them a harsh glare, or maybe even an impolite hand gesture. But the treacherous light turned green right as they were arriving. But, now I have purpose, and more importantly momentum, so the chase continues. I think damning thoughts about the combustion engine, and

I'm next to a nerdy couple. Really nerdy. They both are obscenely thin, they both have loose over sized clothes and they both have long shoulder length hair. One has wildly large ears, one has a wildly small nose, they are both precious. They are both working on academic things. Big Ears is writing some sort of history paper. I can't tell what level of education he is pursuing, but it seems likely it is post graduate. He has his finger idly tracing the exaggerated outline of his lobes, when he asks, " Do you think the word Constaninopalization is a reasonable word." "That's not a word," Small Nose replies. "But, should it be?," Big Ears counters. "Oh, is it the process of turning something into Constantinople?," Small Nose asks, Big Ears nods. "Then yes. It should be a word." I also nodded, but they weren't looking.

I'm next to a guy named Cherokee. He is just past four feet tall with buzzed hair that is the same length as his patchy beard. That same hair has receded about halfway back. He is wearing all black: black polo, black capris, black flip flops, black heavy rimmed plastic glasses. Two parts of his clothing jump out. A white eagle on emblazoned on the right breast of his polo, swooping down, I believe the term is stooping. He also has a golden chain, with a gold dog tag. Which ironically enough is blank. I know his name because he just introduced himself to me. We are in a bar and it is loud, and I had to ask him to repeat his ridiculous name. He did, and followed up with this phrase, "Oh I'm a junior, its not a black thing." I wasn't aware, and still am not aware how the name Cherokee is a black thing, also what is a junior? My confusions must have shown on my face, because he suddenly looked worried he had offended me. He grabbed my elbow, gently, and said

I'm next to this dude. He has a black polo, and khaki cargo shorts. He wears it like a uniform, I feel like his closet is a cartoon closet, full of the same outfit. I can't tell you why its just the first thing that popped into my mind. But really I'm reaching, this guy doesn't really look all that interesting. What is interesting is where he is. We are on a corner waiting to cross the street, he is next to me. He wasn't a second ago though. A second ago I was next to my sister having a conversation, waiting for the light to change. There was a brief pause and I looked away for just a second, just a second, and when I looked back she was gone. Replaced by this dude. I looked at him startled, and he looked back at me with knowing eyes. I was transfixed. I was transported to the clever girl scene of Jurassic Park, but when another version of him didn't leap through foliage to pounce on me, I came out of it. Then I saw my sister over his shoulder with a

I'm next to this dude. He has on a polo shirt with brown and blue horizontal stripes, khakis and flip flops. He has this terrible lumpy slouch and has dull animal eyes. He is so still, not a hint of movement, like a lizard sun bathing. The only thing that moves are his fingers on his keyboard, and his mouth. His mouth is framed by thin lips, and his voice has a slight, purposeful sounding lisp, but with a low throatiness that doesn't match with the affectation. He ends up sounding dull, and a little creepy. He is using the voice too, constantly. At first he was just making unintelligible moaning noises, but eventualy he graduated into single words, then sentences. But he isn't talking to anyone, he is just staring into space announcing things. They are strange random things, I have recorded them for posterity. They are as follows: "Ewwwww." "Uhhhhooohhhunnn."* "Woooah." "Noooo."* "Thats really close to the amaerican fol

I'm next to these two girls One has a teal top and jeans on, and has her hair held back with a wide tie dye, and is quiet. The other has a ribbed grey tank and jean shorts on, and is more talkative. The chatty one has tattoos kind of sprinkled on her right shoulder at random, they don't seem to have anything in common other than the fact that they are tattoos. It is oddly uncoordinated, i'm not sure how I feel about it. I was all set to spy on them, when they did something terrible. They talked to me. This ruins everything. Everything. Oh its horrendous, they are polite and seem nice and interesting. Its all hideously engaging, sigh.

I'm next to nobody. I'm in a coffee shop, sipping coffee, alone. Even the counter person has wandered off to do non counter things. It is so seldom that I am alone in a public place. It feels strange. I am having some sort of weird daydream that maybe something terribly important and world affecting is happening and I am missing it. This is conceivable, because I get all of my news updates by eavesdropping on other people talking about news updates. The world could be exploding in conflict and fire and I would be totally unaware. Whats worse is I have no one to write about. I feel like I shouldn't be here, like I'm breaking a rule, trespassing. I'm in the blue area without the blue key card. I could start doing wild things with no repercussions, of course stealing cookies is the most likely thing that comes to mind. But when I am alone, I am much more convinced of cameras watching my every move, than is at all reasonable. Plus I'd wind up feeling bad,

I'm next to this gentleman. He has kind eyes, although they are kind of leering too. He is bigger, round, not boxy, and is wearing a red polo, and khaki cargo shorts. He is black, and apparently disappointed that I am white. We briefly chatted, and when we finished he offered me the rock. I tapped his rock, with my rock, and as is almost second nature to me, I caused my rock to explode. Fingers wide, all and all about a 6 to 8 inch blast radius. Kind Eyes is not pleased. He shakes his head, and re offers the rock. He looks deep into my soul and says, "This time don't be white about it." I didn't explode it the second time.

I'm next to this girl. Her hair stops just above her shoulder, and she has a golden hoop in her nose. She is wearing a black and white striped tank, and she is on the phone. She must be a regular here because there are three of four people around her at different tables unabashedly listening in on her phone call. It makes my eavesdropping all the easier. She just touches on this wonderful story before she hangs up, but sadly I can't only creepily listen in on half of it. This is the big problem with coffee shop phone call voyeurism, it can be very tantalizing, yet ultimately unfulfilling. So I am overjoyed when a guy a couple tables away says, "Ok, you need to tell us about that." She puked on some dude. At a bar. From a balcony. Right when he walked out a door! This is perfect. This is so perfect. I bet the guy who she puked on was some tragic hero of a romantic comedy right at the end of his rope. His girl left him, his job is terrible right now, he probab

I'm next to this older gentleman. He has a beard, and slicked back hair. Both of these things are grey, and oily looking. He is thin, but his skin is hanging slackly, like he used to be fat until recently, like yesterday maybe. Anyway he is talking to me, and he is frustrated, mainly because I don't know enough about screws. Which is the whole reason I'm talking to him. He is an employee in a hardware store, I am a customer in a hardware store. I asked him for help matching screws and he just stared at me. To this guys thinking apparently only children and women should ask for help in a hardware store. This is bullshit, especially in this aisle. This god damn screw aisle. I have a sinking suspicion that Eli Whitney is a myth. Mainly because every time I have to replace a screw, it is always impossible to find a replacement. Every screw that was ever made is in between proper screw sizes. So finding a replacement screw is this nerve racking affair. I try the size g

I'm next to this guy. He has a shirt that a little to tight, and baggy pants. Curly hair and a real ugly beard. It's one of those beards that doesn't hide a weak chin, but emphasizes it. It should be made apparent I find this person distressing to look at. But maybe that's because I know he is an insane prick. How do I know this? Gossip. Beautiful, dependable, wonderful gossip. Basically a few folks told me wild stories about this guy. I can't relate them, but suffice it to say they were terrible. They were the type of stories that make you upset with the whole world. Stories that make you depressed that someone like this can continue to breathe with out an alarm going off that screams shithead where ever he goes. But here he is, and there is no alarm. Maybe this gossip is why I find this guy so wretched to look at, maybe just knowing that he is so horrible makes him horrible to behold. Maybe this means I'm not shallow, and my aesthetics are driven by

I'm next to this grey haired dude. He looks to be in his forties and he has jean shorts and sandals on, and a black T-shirt. The shirt has a stick figure on it, and the sentence, 'I think it's funny how you think I'm listening.' Did he buy this shirt for himself? Did he come across it in a store and say, hey that is totally the right amount of snark for my chest. I just have to have this T-shirt. Out of all the other clever one liner T-shirts that are doubtlessly on the same rack, this is the one for me. I'm definitely going to love rocking this hot number. Or was it a present. Dave will love this, he hates it when people talk to him. Yeah this describes Dave perfectly, he is a real dick. I don't know, I see these shirts a lot. I often wonder about this bizarre t-shirt applause of rudeness. How come there are never nice shirts. I appreciate you, or You're swell, or If you are reading this then you are literate, and that's great! I've neve

I'm next to this girl, I did not see her at first. We are out behind a bar, it is me, her, and a group of my friends. She must have been skulking in the shadows behind the bar, waiting patiently. I think this is the first person I've ever seen skulking, although I guess your not supposed to see someone who is skulking, so maybe this makes sense. Regardless she surprised me when I saw her in a darkened corner. She is wearing a tank top and a short skirt. She has dark hair pulled into a pony tail, and is extraordinarily skinny. She is clutching an envelope to her chest. She is all these things, as well entirely obliterated by whatever cocktail of drugs and liquor that is replacing a significant portion of her blood. She staggers up to us and says, "Im outta work." She says more things but they all come out, " Blarasrradsajfgh." Then she laughs hysterically. In case it is not apparent I will clarify: this is weird, but also intriguing. My group immedia

I'm next to this guy. He is a good looking dude. Short, short hair, athletic figure, nice smile. He is dressed nice too. Not in formal wear, but just well fitted, well cared for clothes. We are both at a show listening to a band that I've never heard before, he doesn't seem very familiar with them either. The music cuts out for second, and the guy next to me thinking the song is over starts clapping. For second it is silent except for this guys slow, now hesitant applause. Then the song bursts out again. It was just a brief lull, a few people are turning around to look at the clapper. He reacts instantly, pretending he was just stretching his hands out. Good reaction time, but I don't know if anyone was fooled. Honestly, I was just about to clap too.

I'm next to this guy. We are at a red light. He is mid twenties, has brown curly hair and a black t-shirt. He has a soul patch. It is one of those long thick pieces of facial hair, so that even though it is growing from a small part of his face, it seems to be huge. He has big ears too. His car is the result of careless driving. Dents and dings everywhere. There are different colors of paint left on his car from the various accidents. So you can assume that he has ran into many cars, not just one strange accident. He must have some skill at operating a vehicle because his car is still running after running into dozens of other cars. He has his windows down, and he is playing Radiohead's Fake Plastic Trees, very, very loud. Loud enough I can hear the words exactly. I'm at least a little bit of a fan so I am enjoying it, but not like this guy is enjoying it. He isn't singing along or dancing in his seat. Instead he is agreeing with the song, nodding at the e

I'm next to these two people. They are fighting, kind of. They are both sitting with a few other people, all of which seem to be friends. Except of course these two. It is an otherwise civil group, but these two keep insulting each other. One of the guys is a jerk, or at least is aggressively jerky, Jerk Major. The other guy is on the defensive, but he still seems to be pretty damn jerky, Jerk Minor. Jerk Major is clearly annoyed that Jerk Minor is sitting at the same table as them. So Major is trying out tactics he probably perfected in third grade. He is a bully, a big jerky bully. Every time Jerk Minor has something to say Jerk Major is ready and immediately demeans Jerk Minor. On the plus side he seems pretty good at it, a funny jerk. In the other corner is Jerk Minor. Who seems really annoying. Annoying voice, annoying opinions, annoying face. Plus in his own less effective way, he is taking part in this verbal sparring. Little passive aggressive snipes followed by t

I'm next to a man and a woman. They both have a T-shirts, and shorts on. I'm not sure how old they are, maybe late thirties. They are sitting on a public bench, and each other. It is maybe 2 pm, and the gentleman has one of his hands on a upper private part, and his other hand on a lower private part. Now she has one over her legs draped over his knee, which better displays that lower private part. They are slowing traffic with only their passion. I'm in my car next to them, and have spent the last few minutes wondering why it was taking me so long to get down this side street. They seem to be very involved in what they are doing, and unconscious of line of cars that are enjoying them enjoying themselves. It is actually kind of gross.

I'm next to this kid. He is teenage thin, with blue mesh shorts, a marines t-shirt, and a buzzed head. Due to the fact that apparently I'm ancient nowadays, I find this youth immediately suspect. He has this smug arrogant look. I feel like is because he is statistically likely to die decades after I do, and thus will have a much greater chance for hover board rides, and getting a robot arm. But, to be honest it could be about the hickey on his neck. Anyway hickey or lifeline, the sheer fact that I dislike this kid from a chronological standpoint is soon bolstered out by the fact that the first word I hear him say is, 'bitch'. What a hooligan. I know this kid is up to no good. Swearing, and being younger than me, thats two strikes kid, and you know what? I'm giving you a third, cause I damn well want to. So three strikes, now I'm on the case. I sidle up and eavesdrop on a conversation he is having with yet another youth. The first thing, and only thing, I