| Current mood: | fictional |
| Current music: | "we used to be friends" ~ the dandy warhols |
frou frou or the rustle of trench coat
he got tonight's refill. for a meager 20 bucks, one must never forget to get a refill, even if the caffeine will keep one unnecessarily awake for the next two hours or so. he offered the hot cup to the other, who speedily declined with that very familiar flair, "sorry, i don't do coffee."
he smiled, his lips slightly crooked to the left, as all postmodern smiles should look, perfectly balancing his upper right face covered with hair. [and who is he kidding, this author comments, those are bangs, long, pop culture bangs.]
they were in the middle of a rather intense conversation, he and he. he was telling the non-coffee drinker how he is loving world music these days ("ever after", for instance), and how upsetting it was that many people are already following suit. he has always been a non-conformist, he claims, at least ever since junior high.
the non-coffee drinker made out a laugh and turned to light his fifth cigarette.
"how have you been really?" his eyes glisten with fake concern.
"fantastic actually. i'm beginning to get used to living like this."
the two are standing now, outside the cafe, the 2a.m. breeze lightly hitting their faces. one could not help but notice their identical, tapered, acid-bloody-washed jeans.
"i'm glad you're well," said the other, who did not really listen to a single word because he is eager to steer the conversation to his favorite topic, i.e. himself.
"i have decided to come out of the more popular closet. i'm embracing my destiny!"
"good for you!"
"yes. goodbye dear prudence. from now on, i'm not even gonna ask for... exclusivity."
"that's what i'm NOT asking for, too!"
"well that's why we're friends."
they walk alongside each other, the rustle of his trenchcoat sends shivers down the other's spine. maybe friends isn't exactly what they are.
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