[my ride home after work. 6.28.03]
i have arrived.
i take a seat at the bow of the foot ferry, and look out at bay street as people pick prime vantage points for an impending parade. the sun is blazing and i am exhausted from work. my clothing is ill suited for this weather, double thick carhartts and heavy boots. one of my forearms is darker than the other, and both are darker than the rest of me. i wear ridiculously oversized sunglasses as i am convinced that while wearing them, i can't be seen. i am sweating.
across the marina is a yacht with the name "scottfree" on it.
it isn't mine.
across from me, reading intently and hunched over a military history periodocal, a fat man in a ball cap, smokes a cigarette. the letters on his hat spell the word " bass" and look like an american flag. he wears a white longsleeved buttonup, his fat hanging over his hunters camo buttpack like enormous tits. he has a tan line from a watch, on the wrist other than the one he wears it on. beside him is a transparent garbage bag, with a roll of toilet paper inside. he is sweating.
on the other bench is the shirtless tanned man, putting on his shoes. he wipes his feet with ungainly effort. he pulls on his socks... his white hightops. the blonde hair on his sunburnt shoulders shimmers in the sunlight. he seems confused and agitated and now paces across the deck of the boat. his face gives little clue to his true disposition. he is perhaps in his late forties and has a ponytail, short on the top and sides. he wears a mustache and rose tinted sunglasses. his shoelace has come untied and he is confused. there is a tattoo that has faded and bled, of a magic mushroom, on his arm. he is sweating.
the boats engines reverse.
i have arrived.
i have arrived.
i take a seat at the bow of the foot ferry, and look out at bay street as people pick prime vantage points for an impending parade. the sun is blazing and i am exhausted from work. my clothing is ill suited for this weather, double thick carhartts and heavy boots. one of my forearms is darker than the other, and both are darker than the rest of me. i wear ridiculously oversized sunglasses as i am convinced that while wearing them, i can't be seen. i am sweating.
across the marina is a yacht with the name "scottfree" on it.
it isn't mine.
across from me, reading intently and hunched over a military history periodocal, a fat man in a ball cap, smokes a cigarette. the letters on his hat spell the word " bass" and look like an american flag. he wears a white longsleeved buttonup, his fat hanging over his hunters camo buttpack like enormous tits. he has a tan line from a watch, on the wrist other than the one he wears it on. beside him is a transparent garbage bag, with a roll of toilet paper inside. he is sweating.
on the other bench is the shirtless tanned man, putting on his shoes. he wipes his feet with ungainly effort. he pulls on his socks... his white hightops. the blonde hair on his sunburnt shoulders shimmers in the sunlight. he seems confused and agitated and now paces across the deck of the boat. his face gives little clue to his true disposition. he is perhaps in his late forties and has a ponytail, short on the top and sides. he wears a mustache and rose tinted sunglasses. his shoelace has come untied and he is confused. there is a tattoo that has faded and bled, of a magic mushroom, on his arm. he is sweating.
the boats engines reverse.
i have arrived.
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:hel: