Status: hai guise. NO THIS STORY IS NOT OVER. life has been a ***ing party lately and i just haven't had time to write. i'm trying, though; i promise. :)
Willie
and the future hangs over our heads
It was ten in the morning and Willie and I were drinking cappuccinos at Under the Umbrella because I’d given her my number at the bookstore and I knew she’d never call, but then two days later she did and she didn't say hello, only, "So where's a good place to get coffee in this city? I've been doing the 7-11 thing every morning and I'm going crazy."
Her apartment was only a few blocks from the duplex I shared with David and Noah and it took me fifteen minutes to walk there, and when I got there she was standing in the parking lot, wearing this short pink dress with black and white polka dots even though it was November. Her legs were speckled red and violet from the chill and her hair was the same color as the snow on the ground. When she hugged me hello and kissed me on the cheek, I forgot my name.
It was another fifteen minute walk to the coffeehouse and halfway there she made this brrr sound, like a vibration, and jumped up and down on the balls of her feet and slipped her hand in my coat pocket and laced her icicle fingers with mine. She said she hoped I didn't mind but by then I'd quit breathing.
With a faint moustache of whipped cream and coffee, she told me she’s from Albuquerque but that she'd moved here from Seattle only two weeks prior, and before that she lived in Portland, and before that she lived in Minneapolis, and before that she lived in Tucson, and before that she'd lived in some other places, too. "I get restless," she said. "Can't commit."
Her apartment was only a few blocks from the duplex I shared with David and Noah and it took me fifteen minutes to walk there, and when I got there she was standing in the parking lot, wearing this short pink dress with black and white polka dots even though it was November. Her legs were speckled red and violet from the chill and her hair was the same color as the snow on the ground. When she hugged me hello and kissed me on the cheek, I forgot my name.
It was another fifteen minute walk to the coffeehouse and halfway there she made this brrr sound, like a vibration, and jumped up and down on the balls of her feet and slipped her hand in my coat pocket and laced her icicle fingers with mine. She said she hoped I didn't mind but by then I'd quit breathing.
With a faint moustache of whipped cream and coffee, she told me she’s from Albuquerque but that she'd moved here from Seattle only two weeks prior, and before that she lived in Portland, and before that she lived in Minneapolis, and before that she lived in Tucson, and before that she'd lived in some other places, too. "I get restless," she said. "Can't commit."