Status: Active
Of Rage And Love
The Graffiti In the Bathroom Stall
Jimmy hadn’t realised he was heading towards the 7/11 until he was standing in the parking lot. The others were gone – meaning they’d been driven away by cops or had just gotten bored. He’d place money on it being the latter. The 7/11’s staff put up with them because they got so much money from them. They’d also learnt to live with Jimmy graffitiing the ‘employees only’ bathroom.
That’s where he was headed now, as he dug in his pockets for something to write with. He was happy when he found a Sharpie – eyeliner was hard to write with.
His fevered scrawling was halted only when something red caught his eye.
The fuck? I don’t remember writing in lipstick... He got a closer look at it, and frowned. It had, if nothing else, succeeded in calming him down – if only for a few minutes. “’Hearts recycled but never saved, from the cradle to the grave’.” He read aloud. The line was at odds with his own furious words – the sermons and scriptures of the Saint in denial that he was slowly becoming.
The stories of the Jesus of Suburbia.
Jimmy let out a low sigh. He could identify with whoever had written this; even if that was a fact he’d never admit aloud. He rocked back on his heels, all the fury knocked out of him by the realisation that someone out there felt the same as he did.
He couldn’t bring himself to write any more, he didn’t want to risk marring the bittersweet sentiment in red lipstick which was so at odds with the furious black. This was not a feeling that Jimmy liked. He liked to feel in control; to all intents and purposes he was of course the leader of his friends. Those words... to him they spoke of the side of his situation he never wanted to address.
He could cope with the anger, the hatred and the rage. But the pain, the betrayal and the love?
No, Jimmy wasn’t sure he liked this at all.
That’s where he was headed now, as he dug in his pockets for something to write with. He was happy when he found a Sharpie – eyeliner was hard to write with.
His fevered scrawling was halted only when something red caught his eye.
The fuck? I don’t remember writing in lipstick... He got a closer look at it, and frowned. It had, if nothing else, succeeded in calming him down – if only for a few minutes. “’Hearts recycled but never saved, from the cradle to the grave’.” He read aloud. The line was at odds with his own furious words – the sermons and scriptures of the Saint in denial that he was slowly becoming.
The stories of the Jesus of Suburbia.
Jimmy let out a low sigh. He could identify with whoever had written this; even if that was a fact he’d never admit aloud. He rocked back on his heels, all the fury knocked out of him by the realisation that someone out there felt the same as he did.
He couldn’t bring himself to write any more, he didn’t want to risk marring the bittersweet sentiment in red lipstick which was so at odds with the furious black. This was not a feeling that Jimmy liked. He liked to feel in control; to all intents and purposes he was of course the leader of his friends. Those words... to him they spoke of the side of his situation he never wanted to address.
He could cope with the anger, the hatred and the rage. But the pain, the betrayal and the love?
No, Jimmy wasn’t sure he liked this at all.
♠ ♠ ♠
Jesus of Suburbia prt. II City of the Damned; Green Day; American Idiot