The chit chit sound of the nearly-frozen hedges dancing on the windows was actually doing its designated b-movie job of putting her on edge. The entire night had been a complete bust. The list she made of the events that would have qualified the night as worthwhile was actually pretty exhaustive, and yet not a single one would have a check next to it.
The unshaven face, the pissy attitude, the baffling fifteen minute conversation about cheeseburgers (cheeseburgers?), all of it was off the list.
There isn't a mission. There isn't a goal. It's just words on fake paper, sliding and tripping and flowing all over the place, because we're all full up on words in here and there is no way we can keep them inside. Like Tony says, "Nothing in here is true."
Friday, January 02, 2009
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