People I'm Next To

I'm next to this Centari. He has a wild crest of hair, and is wearing a military style jacket, adorned with baroque jewelry and has similarly wild bushy eyebrows. He is also trapped in a small box in my living room. Well to be fair he is trapped in a small group of digital video discs that stay in my living room. I'm being anti social and not leaving my house, but I am trying to be better about updating the blog regularly. It gives me the illusion of productivity, even though I am really just wasting my day watching Babylon 5. Its a pretty good day.

I'm next to this dude. He has great hair. It is this wavy understated pompadour. He looks like someones handsome boyfriend from a romantic comedy, the one the male lead has to compete with in order to win the affections of the female lead. I'm not certain if he has the terrible character flaws necessary to be the boyfriend, but I am certain he is clumsy, and sneaky. We are sitting in a coffee shop, and he is sipping a drink. A bottomless cup of house blend. The dark roast. I know this for certain because he just ordered it twice. He was set up in a cozy leather armchair. This laptop topping his lap, keeping him toasty in the poorly heated shop. While settling though he spills his coffee. He doesn't react like I'd expect though. Rather than make a dramatic leap up to save his laptop, he calmly lifts the computer up, his face carries a very resigned expression. He has done this before. He glances around, and provides a perfect example to visual define the w

I'm next to this girl. There is a bow in her hair, a real live not ironic bow, with teddy bears decorating it. Her shirt is purple and cable knit and she has bright blue jeans leading to white and pink sneakers. She is a strange sight, with the backdrop of her friends. All meticulously dressed in high lady type fashion, and this girl in the casual ten year old girl garb. Also,her legs are one solid width all the way down, they look fake. It's not a weight thing, I don't think, just a weird thing, maybe an optical illusion, or a strange birth defect. The point is her legs are weird. The other point is while I was awkwardly trying to determine if she had bad prosthetics, she burbled. I think thats the name for the sound she is making. Its an odd thing to not really know a word for a sound a person is making, but here I am. I thought is she gurgling? No. I thought is she warbling? No Is she gargling? No. Is she bubbling? No, is that even a word for a noise? She was m

I'm next to this guy. His curly blond hair reminds me of renaissance painting of a cherub. Those flying babies always had curly blond hair. Now that I'm thinking aout babies, he has the face of a baby too. Not a baby face, which is an adult with baby features, which is cute. Instead, it is the face of a baby stretched out over an adult skull, which is not cute. Which is mildly terrifying. But I don't want to talk about his face. I would like to talk about his penis, and his views on his penis, and the penis of a friend. Apparently, the man baby is uncircumcised. Apparently he is proud about this, I know both of these things because he is loud about this. I also know his friend is uncircumcised, and that the man baby has opinions on this, opinions which he is sharing ad nauseam at his friend. Not with his friend, but at his friend. "My orgasms are much more intense than yours can ever be, on account of your debilitation. I am much more in tune with my penis,

I'm next to this old man. He has white thin hair on a head that seems to be too heavy for his thin old man neck. He is wearing a leather jacket, not like a cool bike gang leather jacket, but like the leather jacket that someones dad wears. The rest of his cloths are black. Black shoes, black pants, black socks, black scarf and black gloves. We are both at a coffee shop, I am on my laptop, he is using the pay for minute public computers. This presumably because he is an old man, and is scared to have a computer in his home. Old people are scared of being alone with computers. He is on You Tube, and is having trouble at first I feel bad for him. I stealthily peak over his shoulder, and see that he is searching for 'the Novas,' He is so cute a doddering old man looking for some old band. Adorable. When he finally figures it out, though, I suddenly find myself with amazingly less sympathy and appreciation for his cuteness. Without warning the speakers start spraying

I'm next to this white guy. Normally, I try to shy away from racially identifying people on this blog, not because I'm sensitive to these issues, but because I'm terrfied of being confronted as a racist. But this dude is pretty white. He kind of looks like Paul Rudd's younger brother. He is wearing a Bruce Springstein shirt, with three quarters sleeve, softball style. Maybe he is on a team, maybe he is in the E. Street band, maybe he is on the E. Street band's softball team. Its pretty white either way, but thats not what I want to talk about. What I want to talk about is rhythm. This dude is singing karaoke, I won't bother to say which song, just imagine a song some white guy would sing, it is that one. He is almost entirely still as he sings. Rigor mortis still. His mouth opens and closes with a harsh mechanism and looks awkward and strange. But, his foot is what holds interest. He has brown suede shoes on, his left for is still, but his right foot i

I'm next to this short guy. He is pretty short, but he has a fluffy red and white hat with a pom on the top of it, it adds a few inches. Some curly black hair is escaping from the side of his hat feeds into his winter time beard. He has on a black coat, purple pants, and is carrying a skate board. Its an odd type of skate board, I think its called a long board, but I was uncoordinated and chubby as a youth so I don't really know abut these things. It is pretty long, so you know, long board makes sense. He has just entered this coffee shop in a gust of cold wind, a determined look on his face. He crosses the shop with a firm and brisk pace, and fixes his gaze on the man behind the counter. The barista nods, and gets out a, "Hey Steve," before Steve, I guess, interrupts him. "You have Cherry Coke?" The server, blink and makes a questioning noise. Steve reiterates, mild frustration coming through in his voice. "Do you have Cherry Coke?" The ser