-a gutted building near 12th and Pine. this is another teetering-in-an-alley, camera-above-head blind shot. it turned out well. secret places are often happy accidents.
there should be swingin' saloon doors and a few women saucily lolling about. this place vaguely reminds me of the Bush Company....
-the fuck-you walk.
-you've been here, even if you haven't been HERE. we watched football. the bears kicked the asses of "the fucking cowboys." I played with my phone like an asshole. people over the years have attempted to explain football to me. I love the potential of its intricacy. but that intricacy-grasping must be accompanied by a patient, dutiful mind- and this, of late, I lack.
and wood-paneled bars remind me of Alaska.
-instead of that fucking omnipresent bag, I need a sleek James Bond-y gun. and instead of those drooping jeans, I need a miniskirt and heeled boots. the background can stay.
-he's got me open like a 7-11... not really. it's just a lyric.
I have a playboy magazine from 1985 that has a "women of 7-11" centerfold. REAL (mostly white, mostly southern) women who worked at various 7-11s across the country submitted their strumpetry for approval! it is AWESOME. some are posing on the hoods of '83 Skylarks (or the equivalent), some are in tight, bodice-bursting 7-11 uniforms, looking coy. some look hardened and crispy and sad. I wonder where those women are now. they'd be in their 50s or 60s, probably.
anyway, 7-11. cheapest gas on the hill.
-trashy trash, Pine St.
"and, after another silence, she murmured something about my being 'a queer fellow.' 'and I daresay that's why I love you,' she added. 'but maybe that's why one day I'll come to hate you.'
to which I had nothing to say, so I said nothing."
-Camus
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