10.Jan.2003
25 bucks and a cracker
--
the revolution
I'm looking at Wellesley, Massachusetts.
I'm looking at Los Angeles, California.
I'm looking at Dallas, Texas.
I'm looking at Salt Lake City, Utah.
I'm looking at Dustin's living room floor.
Dustin's living room floor is cluttered with mattresses and sheets, and his bedroom smells like a hospital. I have slept beside him only once, and he sleeps in agony, continually tossing his weight around and sighing exasperatedly at the fact attaining peace is impossible.
While he smokes Kamel Reds and downloads random I Hate You songs, I sit here and glance at his profile. It is jagged. Going through his Yahoo! profile list, I'm noticing a pattern in his taste in women.
They're very skinny.
The other night, I said to him, "Dustin, in all the 8 months I've known you, I've only seen you chase one female around for the next. I really wish you wouldn't do that."
"So what do you think about Palos Verdes?"
"I want to go to Spain."
"So Palos Verdes is out, then."
"I'm not rich enough to stay there."
"I wasn't talking about staying there, I was talking about the view from the top."
"Oh. Sure. It's nice."
"I get the feeling you blocked me out about five minutes ago."
"No, smartass, I'm listening to you. Wichita."
"Why?"
"I could get a decent job there."
"Please don't settle, then I'll abandon you and feel consequently worse about this."
Dustin is one of the main reasons I decided to stay in Oklahoma City; telling him this is difficult, and thus I decided not to and just be content with him flipping through the E! channel.
"Ravieslave?"
"Yes."
"I think I'll refer to you as Ravioli Slave from this point onward."
"What? I'm not Chef Boyardee's concubine, my sweet."
Much to my chagrin, I'm Dustin's younger sister. I watch from a subtle distance the way he splits himself in fractions for a size 4 waist. Sometimes I have moments in which I memorize the way he breathes smoke from his mouth; Spira Mirabilis lifts from his lungs. He snuffs his cigarettes with his Sturm und Drang fingers, and runs his tongue along his bottom lip.
Sister, start the engine.
"Spain?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm."
"I just need to get out of this town."
"Boy, that's exactly what I like to hear."
--
time & machine