People I'm Next To

I'm next to a cool dude. A very cool dude. He is wearing all black,and almost all leather. Black leather chaps, black leather, black leather vest. He has a black T-shirt, black jeans and a black bandanna. He is riding a motorcycle, and, predictably, it is black. Now, this happens all the time, I see people dressing in all this stuff and looking awkward, stiff, out of place in any place. They are wearing costumes. This is the guy they are dressing up as. Comfortable, durable, tough, this is a cool dude, almost fictionally cool. We are at a gas station, there is a woman next to me at the pump. The cool guy is looking at her. She is pumping her gas and seems mildly uncomfortable under his cool gaze, but not unhappy. She smiles a small smile where he can't see. I bet he knows though. She gets in her car, but before she drives away he causally walks up. Cool footsteps. He waves briefly and leans on her passenger side door. She rolls the window down, no hesitation. He

I'm next to a swordsman. We are riding in and elevator together. Me and a swordsman in and elevator! This is, in case you are wondering, as awesome as it sounds, maybe even more awesome. He is somewhere just toping five feet, and is widely built with a little bit of chub. He is bald, and has a close cropped beard. Even with out his sword, he is dressed ridiculously. He has on a red fuzzy hoodie, not fleece, fuzz. His pants match. His pants match. His pants match. Match his red, fuzzy hoodie, they are red fuzzy pants. His shoes are bright white leather, and are extremely clean, probably new. He is wearing those future sunglasses you get when you have your eyes dilated, and he looks happy to have them on. This is all wonderful. The sword strapped to his back makes it more wonderful than I ever could have hoped for. The hilt is wrapped in white tape, and it is in a black nylon sheath. Without the sword he looks like a homeless man who skinned many Elmos for his outfi

I'm next to this pile of hair. It is brown, and maybe two inches long at most. I get the feeling it was boys hair, but as it is unattached to anybody I don't know for sure. It is laying in the dirt, under a bush, next to somebodies porch. It looks kind of sad. I can see it now, a young man nervously letting his friend nervously shear him. He is wrapped in a bath towel or a sheet, and chuckling at jokes about how bad his haircut is going to turn out. He has an itch on his nose and has to keep telling his friend to hold on while he scratches it. I mean thats how it could have happened, I dunno. I wonder if the person misses it? I wonder if hey like their new hair cut? I wonder if they are still getting used to it? I wonder if was a trim, or a major shave? I wonder if it was conditioned regularly I wonder if he rinsed and repeated? I wonder if I could tell by touching the hair? I wonder if I could tell by smelling it? I wonder if I know the person? I wonder if I complimented the

I'm next to the whole god damn army. This is an exaggeration, but only a little one. I'm next to what can only be called a convoy. Seven army vehicles in a row traveling down the highway, complete with camouflage and troopers. The troopers are wearing full get up, heavy desert camouflage jackets, helmets, the passengers are holding guns, and all have grim, super down to business, army dude expressions. The three cars in the front and back are jeeps, the one in the middle is a covered truck. What is in that truck? Why is it being guarded by three carloads of armed soldiers? Is it a thing, is it a person, is it both? Is there significance to the seven vehicles, perhaps its some bizarre occult experiment by a mad Pentagon scientist sorcerer? I hope it's not that they are just learning to drive jeeps.

I'm next to this ripped dude. Ripped is a silly word, but thats what this dude is, every inch of him is at least ten times more firm than any inch of me. I suppose I haven't felt him to be sure, but with his tiny shorts and sleeveless and side-less shirt I certain can see enough of him. This shirt is ridiculous. Once upon a time it was a regular t-shirt, it had sleeves, a neck line, all that shirty stuff. But then this guy decided that he needed more airflow. So he dipped it in raw meat and and tossed it to a group of starving bears. Now it is slit down to the bottom hem on each side, and has a low ragged v-neck. It might be a tabard, technically, maybe he is a knight. I dunno. Fashion choices aside, he is eating Mcdonalds. This inspires a dull resignation in me. This asshole is shoving the worst shit possible into his face, and still has a magnificent form. What worse is that, due to his excess of muscles, this dude's body literally requires more calories to mai

I'm next to this lady. She has short styled hair, a bright yellow top with poofy shoulders and no sleeves. She is frantic, her eyes are darting back and forth, searching desperately. In the brief span me eating from inch two to inch three of my burrito, she has walked by my table 8 times. She must be lost? Or there is a bomb here somewhere. A table down there is a kid playing with some sort of modern version of silly putty. He is pretty happy. Which is fair, that stuff looks cool. He is alone, i saw his mother go to use the restroom. Suddenly halting her pacing, the frantic woman slams her hand down on his table, and in a tense, loud voice she says, "Hey, is this Chipolte?" There should probably be an exclamation point in that last sentence. The kid looks around at all the signs that read Chipolte, all the soda pop cups that read Chipolte, all the bags, wrapper and burritos that read Chipolte. He looks at all the distinctive latin themed industrial furnishings,

I'm next to this couple. One is a balding dude with heavy black frames, one is auburn haired lady who has heavy red frames. The woman has on jeans and a plain black t-shirt, the man has on jeans and a not plain black t-shirt. His shirt has a yellow moon silhouetting a skeleton, astride a similarly skeletal horse, and red lettering reading 'Blue Oyster Cult'. Uncharacteristically, and unthoughtfully, I break my usual and advisable silence and mutter, "Nice shirt, man." He responds, and continues responding, this is not what I intended. The small talk is like a tiny hole in my space suit of voyeurism. A tiny near unnoticeable thing that inevitably means my eyeballs will be exploding into the void of space. I am pondering this terrible eventuality and I must have missed something important because this happens sooner than I expect. Much much sooner. "Anything that sexualizes young girls is just over the line," the man is saying. The woman is nodding

I'm next to this woman. She has that yellow white hair that some old people have, and it is done up in swirls and loops. It is like highly styled cotton candy on a wrinkly head. She has pink rectangle frames glasses, a t-shirt, jeans, and pink flip flops on. She also has cats. Seven of them. These cat's aren't with her, well physically, they are always with her in spirit, I think. She has left their side to buy them food at the pet store, I'm behind her in line, forever. This forever has been created by a kind, if unthoughtful cashier. The cashier asked the woman the following question, "Wow seven cats, whats that like?" This began an unstoppable torrent of stories about the only things that matter in this womans life, seven furry demons of sloth and gluttony. Every story starts and ends with these cats laying around cutely. In between dscriptions about their idle lounging, we learn how many birds they murder a year (five), or how many of them were c

I'm next to the sleazy guy. His hair is gelled to the point that is is more of an architectural work than a part of a human. Stiff and straw-like, it forms a snaky twisting faux hawk. He has a scruffy beard and a fat face, with beady little eyes. He is terrible below his neck too. His chubby upper torso is covered by too tight blazer, over a similarly tight shirt. His limbs are these strange thin things sprouting from his round frame, like a grapefruit with toothpicks sticking out of it. All of this might be fun looking, or cute in a strange asexual way, if he wasn't rubbing my inside of my wrist with his pointer finger while we shake hands. I should have known it was going to be a creepy handshake. His eyes were glazed over, and making weird convulsive winks, which may have been part of a localized seizure, or an attempt at a come hither look. Hit tiny tongue kept peeking out of his mouth, which for all the world reminded me of a national geographic video of a moray ee

I'm next to this dude. He is relatively ancient. Not like walking corpse old, but still pretty musty. He has a long black coat on, it is worn and faded, and his shoes have seen light years. Despite the obvious age of his clothing it is well cared for, shoes shiny, coat clean. He has a cane, brass and functional, but obviously from a medical supply store. He used to be imposing. He was large. Tall, muscular, you can tell from how he has collapsed on himself with age. He has jowls now, and his neck is no longer thick, his shoulders are no longer broad. Time has made him scrawny, and left his skin hanging off him where it used to be taut and vital. He is stooped, leaning over his cane he loses whole feet. He is still taller than me. His hair is dyed. It's not even dyed well. Its this matte fake black. His roots stand out for at least an inch, and there are faded parts that look lighter. I don't begrudge him dying his hair, I just wonder if he thinks he is being

I'm next to this old woman. She is bundled disproportionately again the mild cold. Giant coat, fuzzy scarf and a shawl under the scarf and pulled up over her head. She has a big, bulging full purse that she is holding in in the crook of her left arm. Her left hand is white and shaky. Also it is brushing the small of my back. We are crammed in a tightly packed space, and I am realizing that the back of my shirt has ridden up just the slightest bit to expose the skin just above my ass. Her hand has found that small patch of skin. I was just standing there when I felt it. Like the touch of a lover, gentle but most definitely there. If it wasn't so jarring it would feel good, I think? I can't see her now, but since she is still doing it I think she doesn't seem to notice she is touching me. Maybe the bag has cut off the circulation in her hand. I'm frozen though, because if this old lady doesn't realize she is nearly giving me an erection, and I feel like if I