People I'm Next To

I'm not next to anyone. This will change soon.

I'm next to this gentleman. He has grey hair and a slouch. He is wearing a blue T, and cargo shorts. His grey socks are pulled high out of his white tennis shoes. His features are soft and rounded. He puts the gentle in gentleman. He looks very very nice. He is also directly in front of my car. Well like 45 feet in front of my car. So, you know, its not that dramatic. He does decide however that he doesn't want to cross the street. This is really sad thing for the Gentleman apparently. He is so downcast as he turns around and walks back to the sidewalk. He really looks like he is going to cry. I've never felt so bad for driving straight.

I'm next to these two guys. One is kinda chubby, with tangled hair and the hint of a future beard. He has blue mesh shorts on and a sweat drenched T-shirt. He is out of breathe. The other guy is fit, thin and lanky, with close cropped hair and is cleanly shaved. He has a tight shirt on, and fitted mesh shorts. He is sweating lightly, and breathing regularly. It looks like they planned how ridiculous they look next to each other. It is like a Laurel and Hardy jogging team. The chubby guy is bent over heaving now, while his buddy offers bland, but encouraging words, while jogging in place to keep up his heart rate. There is a flash of hatred across the already twisted features of the chubby guy. I can tell that, just for a moment, he wants to plunge his hands into the thin guy's chest, pull out his heart, and scream wildly some clever phrase that has the word 'cardiovascular' in it. Much to my dismay he doesn't coat his hands in the life blood of his exerc

I'm next to these four dudes. They all are wearing mesh shorts and T-shirts, three of the four have caps on, two of the four have flip flops. They are my new neighbors and they are enjoying the weather by sitting on their porch and talking about girls. Despite their ridiculous notions of women, this set up is not inherently a problem. When it happens at 4:30 am then we have a problem. Currently we have a problem. They are loud, so loud. They are stupid, so stupid. As they talk about girls they do this strange dance. It starts off with a mention, "Hey hows Jane doing?" In a four man chorus they give some safe small talk about Jane. Then they lightly touch on Jane's character. Invariably these are compliments, "She is a really cool girl," and so on and so forth. This rapidly shifts to a different sort of compliment, "She has a BODY, I mean a body." So now that we know Jane isn't a discorporate entity wandering the world without form o

I'm next to people, I think. I'm walking down the street, past a bus parked at a stop, and with the way the sun is shining the windows have been turned into mirrors. I feel nervous. Anyone could be in that bus watching me. Anyone. This is an unacceptable reversal of roles. That's my shtick, phantom bus people. I spy on people and think they are weird. Do you have a blog that two of your friends read, when you not so casually fish for their patronage. No, you don't do you. So stop making fun of my stupid hair cut, or the fact that my shirt is extra wrinkly today, or whatever. Dicks. It is possible no one was looking at me as I walked by.

I'm next to this guy. He is short, round, and shaggy headed. Hair beard all of it. He has a white polo on with small yellowed spots, similarly stained khaki shorts and flip flops. In order to keep his flip flops on he feet he take tiny little bird steps. As he walks around this bar I hear snippets of him talking. He is making a silly voice, strange, squeaky and soft. Wait, that is actually his voice. Its this hideous watery squeak screech like if a rodent and a bird were to make love in the middle of the ocean. It is astonishing to think he sounds like this all the time. It must be a strange existence when your main form of communication is this unfortunate warbling sound. Oh my, now the most amazing thing ever is happening, he is getting up to sing karaoke. Oh. Oh. It is beautiful. It is so goddamn beautiful. Hearing him sing is like being hugged by my mother. I don't even know what to say. I'm just going to stop writing.

I'm next to a man. A man. He has a red polo and new jeans, with that capital B unfaded blue, and a big silver watch. His eyebrow are constantly fluctuating between furrowed and arched. He looks just like Craig T. Nelson. Star of screens big and small. I hope its him. It would be so wonderful if it was him. It has to be him. It totally is him Maybe he is prepping for the Coach movie, I hope so. I'd love a Coach movie, maybe Jerry Van Dyke would be in it. I mean he would have to be, if he is still alive guess. It would be a dream come true to see those two back in action. I'm gonna play it cool though I'm not gonna ask for an autograph. I just checked Jerry Van Dyke is alive.

I'm next to this guy. He has short light brown, maybe dark blond hair and a scruffy beard. He has a fitted grey t shirt on, and seems in fairly good shape. Lean and fit shape, not unwieldy bulbous shape. Also I can't tell from my current spying angle but it looks like has an orange tattoo on his left tricep. He has his computer open, but isn't paying attention to it. Not one bit, his attention lies elsewhere. Elsewhere is his phone, and although I am too far away to hear his actual words, as much as my voyeuristic creepy heart wants to, I can hear his tone. It is that soft edged, lightly musical, sanded down voice that boys have when they are talking to girls on the phone. Any boy, any girl, same voice. I am next to someone else who is as spy-y as I am. So I lean over and mention this phenomena. She giggles and we both look over at the talking gentleman. But while we look, we are spotted! This is not a disaster however, it proves my theory. He blushes. A lot. Its

I'm next to a couple. She has long auburn hair and a grey ladies fedora, two nose rings in one nostril, a pair large hoop earing, and a few other piercings but rather than having jewelry in them she has thread threaded through them. The gentle man has a deep purple shirt, mussed thick brown hair, a goatee, and a bitchin watch. They are getting married, and they are unenthusiastic about it. I should note they are excited about each other, but its the wedding that seems to be the problem. There is all sorts of unimposing talk about commas on their program, and file types for the music, but these tiny seemingly mundane items are mystically augmented by the weight of terrible stress. So instead of grammar and file naming convention it sounds like they are talking about tsunamis and gang violence. They make jokes with a soldiers humor, and answer those jokes with sincere but mildly crazy laughter. This celebration has unhinged them. Its like a drug addiction, something that is

I'm next to a lot of people today. They are all playing board games, me too. I love this. The end.

I'm next to a total dude. He is walking down the street, with his girl, who, in an amazing triumph over gender roles, is a total dude too. They are red, bright red, like everyone else around them. It is game day here in OSU town, which for me isn't that bad. I'm not a fan, but I like to pretend there are just weekly fairs, where vendors sell sell T-shirts, and necklaces made of buckeyes, instead of cotton candy, and deep fried everything. This dude couple is walking by one of the said buckeye necklace vendors. The vendor halts them for a second, and hands the girl dude, dudette I suppose, a buckeye bracelet, "For you baby," he says. This turns out to be a brilliant sales move, as the couple stops to buy some more festive jewelry. The dude says, "Hey do you have any that are just buckeye colors without these big brown things?" The vendor is confused, "What?" The dude, "These big ugly brown things." The vendor, "Those are buc

I'm next to this kid. He has a red t-shirt on and mesh blue shorts. He has an mac laptop in front of him, but it is closed and he is playing handheld video game. He is slouched in that way that kids slouch. He is chubby in that way that children are chubby. He is a pretty normal kid. But he is alone, there are no other kids here, just a whole bunch of adults. None of them seem to be his parents, or if they are they are so caught up in everything else that they may as well not be. Maybe he is lost? Maybe he is divorced from his parents? Maybe he is a test tube baby? Maybe he is a super genius child raised in a government laboratory and this is his escape? Maybe he is a bizarre alien parasite using this child as a host and the video game is actually a control for a doomsday device that spells the end of human kind as we know it. Oh wait there is his mom, she was knitting in the corner.