we sit at a table on the roof staring at construction and cranes and gay men sipping on drinks under festive lights at the bar. colors pulse over the bodies of gay men, men dressed like women, benji, will and i and bounces off the mirrors. hips move with the beats and men dance like women. the strippers wear only thongs and get freaky for an extra five dollars. we keep moving and giggling and ben teaches us to dance gay. and i close my eyes b/c it's getting hot. "if i were more drunk i would have pulled that stripper down and had him dance with me." sure you would have. i am such a fag hag, i admit it. we walk home under street lights. hi i'm ben and i have a bushy pushy. mmm thanks bye.
we held hands over the mattress and watched hedwig sing about the origin of love.
johnny and i were silent for the first hour of the trip back. it seems like a dirty secret to know someone is so upset. it wasn't awkward silence but something we used to avoid things we didn't know how to deal with. he falls asleep in the passenger seat and the flaming lips sort of cover us while the outside rushes by. and finding out what you thought was wrong wasn't the real reason.
benny is creaming his panties over powersquid while he and nick and johnny and tash and eli drink terrible home-brewed beer. or that's what i heard. i was the sober driver that night. it was bad enough for some of it to be poured onto my bare foot instead of on the grass. and when i saw you again it was like something that had been missing was put back into the picture and i had to nuzzle into you. that or it was some sort of obsession for unfinished business. but know that i heart you. i run my fingers over the rim of nick's pants. and i smile and feel close.
leaving late but feeling happy. the moldy peaches sing about crack while we sing along with voices cracking and the doves croon about the man who told everything. johnny and tash and i talk about everything with scenery lit by headlgihts passing by. jesus saves crack addicts on the radio in san marcos while we look for a gas station that is open after midnight. we pull into a trucker stop to fill up and get a drink in a gray plastic cup (which i proceeded to spill three times in the next twelve hours), chocolate cupcakes and flaming hot cheetos. and johnny begs and mourns for quarters so he can buy a french tickler in the restroom. oh truckers, i wish you would buy me nudie trading cards at the truck stop. h-o-mother fuckin t. tash falls asleep in the back and we keep talking in the front.
themselves at emos. it's like pulling myself more inside of myself and stepping outside my body at the same time. i want your babies, doseone. subcouncious movement and illustrated pictures in red and black and movement and gestures with white boys dancing in the front in a way the black kids would make fun of. it's no lie, i heard people ragging on the white kids before and it was funny. even funnier if you had seen them dancing yourself. a plastic baby with markered mustache and goatee to look like alias. the room rattles with the bass. and you find yourself moving. moms and dads, what's up with that?
natters and johnny and i discuss pushy and pregnancy at wendy's over a delcious dinner. mom, i'm pregnant. again?! seven is alright but eight?? and then we talked about jc.as in jesus christ. mm mm good.
saved by the bell: the last dance...nuff said. ahahaha
p.s. ben still thinks i should be a stripper. to be frank, i wish he would stop giving michael bolton head.