"Candy told me nothing really matters anymore
And when I ask her what she means she says I ought to know
Candy said she's made arrangements for me in the sand
And Candy said she wants me with her down in Candyland
Candy says she wonders why we try
I couldn't think of what to say
I had no ready reply"
-Candy by Morphine
It snows.
I walk down my street, past the subsidized housing complex, past the women's shelter, past the spot where a 19 year old kid bled out from a stabbing one December night two years ago.
As I approach the overpass, walking quickly to catch my bus, I hear a women's shrill voice. I look up. A man and woman in their early 30s walk together. He turns abruptly, violently: "I can't stand being near you anymore!" Her arm goes up reflexively, warding the blow that doesn't come. He walks away with his head down. The snow is still coming: hard, mean little pellets. No soft snow for us all today.
Later on the bus: a young asian couple. I am behind them. The young asian man sits in a sideways seat. The woman talks in an animated fashion to the young man. I do not recognize the language. She shares the seat with a tiny old man whose bony shoulders seem to fold in on themselves. His mouth is toothless, cheeks sunken. His clothing swaddles him, seemingly more substantial than the flesh it wraps. He taps the young woman on the shoulder and shows her his open transit pass. She stops talking and looks at him. I notice a small picture of two little boys tucked above his pass. He shows the young man too. They smile but catch each others' eyes. They go back to talking. The old man folds himself in more closely. He squints out the window through smudged glasses, barely able to see over the edge of the windowframe.
Still later, my friends' house: I'm here for my weekly rolemaster session. M opens the door, freckles, killer smile, sad brown eyes. I put the water on for tea while he goes outside for a cigarette. R and S set up the gaming stuff. The usual pre-nerd fest chatter. I unplug the kettle as M walks back in and sits down at the dining room table. I'm measuring tealeaves into a teaball when he begins. His brother, who lives in Vancouver, does not have many more days to live. All his systems are failing. I knew his brother is gay and has been HIV positive for awhile. M wants to be with his brother, but doesn't want to alarm him by flying halfway across the country. He doesn't want to turn up on his doorstep like a shadow. M talks calmly. R and S listen. They make no comment. I pour the water over the teaball. I bring the teapot to the table. M is looking down and I don't know what to say.
I let the tea steep.
And when I ask her what she means she says I ought to know
Candy said she's made arrangements for me in the sand
And Candy said she wants me with her down in Candyland
Candy says she wonders why we try
I couldn't think of what to say
I had no ready reply"
-Candy by Morphine
It snows.
I walk down my street, past the subsidized housing complex, past the women's shelter, past the spot where a 19 year old kid bled out from a stabbing one December night two years ago.
As I approach the overpass, walking quickly to catch my bus, I hear a women's shrill voice. I look up. A man and woman in their early 30s walk together. He turns abruptly, violently: "I can't stand being near you anymore!" Her arm goes up reflexively, warding the blow that doesn't come. He walks away with his head down. The snow is still coming: hard, mean little pellets. No soft snow for us all today.
Later on the bus: a young asian couple. I am behind them. The young asian man sits in a sideways seat. The woman talks in an animated fashion to the young man. I do not recognize the language. She shares the seat with a tiny old man whose bony shoulders seem to fold in on themselves. His mouth is toothless, cheeks sunken. His clothing swaddles him, seemingly more substantial than the flesh it wraps. He taps the young woman on the shoulder and shows her his open transit pass. She stops talking and looks at him. I notice a small picture of two little boys tucked above his pass. He shows the young man too. They smile but catch each others' eyes. They go back to talking. The old man folds himself in more closely. He squints out the window through smudged glasses, barely able to see over the edge of the windowframe.
Still later, my friends' house: I'm here for my weekly rolemaster session. M opens the door, freckles, killer smile, sad brown eyes. I put the water on for tea while he goes outside for a cigarette. R and S set up the gaming stuff. The usual pre-nerd fest chatter. I unplug the kettle as M walks back in and sits down at the dining room table. I'm measuring tealeaves into a teaball when he begins. His brother, who lives in Vancouver, does not have many more days to live. All his systems are failing. I knew his brother is gay and has been HIV positive for awhile. M wants to be with his brother, but doesn't want to alarm him by flying halfway across the country. He doesn't want to turn up on his doorstep like a shadow. M talks calmly. R and S listen. They make no comment. I pour the water over the teaball. I bring the teapot to the table. M is looking down and I don't know what to say.
I let the tea steep.
VIEW 25 of 30 COMMENTS
I don't like dying computers. it's sad.
good luck w/the new rig!
I may get some sleep for once.