mojave 3.

i stood beneath the scaffolding for what felt like years. it's funny how long 30 minutes feels when you're alone. i wondered what i looked like beside the mound of gravel, watching the cars pass by. i was waiting for beth. as i stood there, i felt a strange sense of displacement, of where am i, of i don't know this place. but i had been on that strip of santa monica boulevard before; it just looked different. everything is always under construction. i wonder if anything is ever really done.

i didn't know what kind of car she was driving, so i focused my eyes on each moving vehicle. and then i saw her: tan volvo, short hair, pink shirt. she turned the corner, and i went to the alley where i knew i'd find her.

we ate bread, aquafina and jellie bellies while we waited in line for the doors to open. part of me felt 15; the other felt 50. how did i miss this part of life? what i was i doing when i was 17? 19? 21? i wasn't going to rock shows, i wasn't designing websites, i wasn't tweezing my eyebrows and watching what i eat.

inside, we were pressed up against the stage. greasy, hefty, scruffy boys surrounded us. the guido section. i have never seen so many boys with big hair at one time. in LA, it's usually big breasts.

by the time the band started to play, i had lost all feeling in my toes and my eyelids were falling to the ground. which was perfect. because the music drifted, wafted, floated, and sooner than later it was time to go home. i got in at 1am, dreading the idea of work the next morning. it was tuesday. a school night, we say. i crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my body.

inspired:
fragments turned 70 today. wish them a happy birthday by reading each one twice. or not.

lost:
you smell funny.

found:
oh dear. fray day photos seem to be up. see me clutching onto my page tightly? ha! i wasn't nervous, honest. i lie.

overheard:
"try not to worry about it too much. that always complicates things." -- advice from a friend.

nonsequitur:
i don't know, you tell me.

momentarily: