Beatle.
001/001
A lot of people name their kids after states, countries, cities and landmarks. There’s Iowa’s, California’s and even Nevada’s. For cities there’s Brooklyn, Boston, Helena, Cheyenne, Juno.. The list is endless. Countries and major Cities from them are more difficult to come by but they‘re still there. For instance, London and Paris. But what I don’t get is the fact that my parents decided to name me after a bug. A bug, of all creatures. My name, unfortunately is Beatle. Beatle Mara Jones to be exact. I live in San Francisco, California with my two cats. I guess you can say I’m lonely, and lovely, but hey; I’m nineteen. I’ve got my whole life to try and find someone to make me unlovely and unlonely.
When I was living with my parents in Seattle, Washington, I didn’t have as much freedom as I do now. I smoke whenever I want, filthy but satisfying habit, party whenever I want and sleep whenever I want. I go to college and work at an old record shop in downtown. Sure, that doesn’t pay for things I want but it pays for things I need. My friends don’t believe me that my first name is really Beatle, which really makes me mad. One of these days, though, I’ll show them that it is.
My home is that of a lovely stature; of course, all homes in San Fran are gorgeous. It’s a small, one-story, three bedroom green house with a pool and some palm trees. It came like that, and I care for it all by myself. I don’t need any fancy maids or any fancy pool boys-- of course, my old pool boy was great in bed. I’m a mature and young adult with nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Some people say “Beatle, you’re immature.” Well I say fuck them, I do what I want when I want, and there isn’t anything anyone can say to change that. A lot of the times, between my cats and I, I even walk around my house naked and go skinny dipping. I was a caged bird, and now I can fly as far and as high away as possible. Live life to it’s fullest is what I tell myself, and that’s what I’m here to do. I’m going to head out because, well, I have a tall, tan and handsome Italian man looking at me and boy, do I want a taste.
When I was living with my parents in Seattle, Washington, I didn’t have as much freedom as I do now. I smoke whenever I want, filthy but satisfying habit, party whenever I want and sleep whenever I want. I go to college and work at an old record shop in downtown. Sure, that doesn’t pay for things I want but it pays for things I need. My friends don’t believe me that my first name is really Beatle, which really makes me mad. One of these days, though, I’ll show them that it is.
My home is that of a lovely stature; of course, all homes in San Fran are gorgeous. It’s a small, one-story, three bedroom green house with a pool and some palm trees. It came like that, and I care for it all by myself. I don’t need any fancy maids or any fancy pool boys-- of course, my old pool boy was great in bed. I’m a mature and young adult with nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Some people say “Beatle, you’re immature.” Well I say fuck them, I do what I want when I want, and there isn’t anything anyone can say to change that. A lot of the times, between my cats and I, I even walk around my house naked and go skinny dipping. I was a caged bird, and now I can fly as far and as high away as possible. Live life to it’s fullest is what I tell myself, and that’s what I’m here to do. I’m going to head out because, well, I have a tall, tan and handsome Italian man looking at me and boy, do I want a taste.
♠ ♠ ♠
Word count;;409