Tokio Turquoise

Don't you hate it when, at first, you look at a water bottle and think it's full? Like, you're sitting across from an Arrowhead bottle and think that you don't have to go out and buy more because that bottle is full. But when you stand up and walk closer, you see through the glassy plastic and into the empty, waterless bottom.

And cry.

That's the exact thing I think of when I leave bottles around my house. And the clear water sits in my hands as I sit, quietly and brooding, in my friend's car. We're driving to listen to some hong-kongian music. I mean, I've never heard them before, but the lead singer looks asian. Like the type that you see singing in Dir En Grey. Which, by the way, doesn't sound Japanese. That name is so German.

Like my fuckass name. Ránë. With accents over each vowel. Every person to read it doesn't even try to pronounce it; they ask me whether it's "Rain" or "Ranee". And it's neither. Even my English professor can't say it, and those accents are in English. Acute and Utoople, or whatever. My God, my parents were on crack when they named me. A chick on crack and preggers... I don't know either of them, so whatever.

I looked around, peeking out of my sunglasses and towards the real world. Nancy was driving, grinning like an idiot. Her purple hair glowed in the light of the dying sun. I could imagine the neon in my hair popping out through the tinted windows of the limo.

Yeah, I preffer the front of a limo to the back. It's relaxing.

I could also hear why she was grinning; the people in the back, my stupid goddamn forceful friends, were making sex sounds. My god, what the fuck?

"Oooh, Bill, that's so good."

"Imma chinaman."

I laughed pretty hard at that.

"I thought it was Japanman?" I turned to them. Once again, I may like the front, but I sure do love my friends. I really do. Yes, I do. Not. I do.

"Oh, right." William, in his gay moment of forgetfulness, blushed.

They continued the sex noises, and I continued the staring out the window.

You know what? This concert sounds pretty bad. Why am I even doing this?

You're a loser who loves your friends.

Uh... who the fuck calls themself a loser?

Losers.

I shook my head and Nancy looked at me.

"Couseling yourself?" she smiled.

I rolled up the thingy that blocks off the back and nodded.

"Yeah." I lamely tapped my foot.

"Why? We're going to a concert, not a court case."

"Because they're all gay, and asians hate me."

"Uh... you'll see you have nothing to fear when we get there." she smiled.

Why do people play tricks on me?