they pulled my hair at charm school.
they
stole my guestbook during
rolecall.
all collarbones & cleavage, + August 4. 2003 = _
+ saturday night. we sail down the merritt parkway as if in a dream. dusk collecting on small deer escaping greenwich lawns, rest stop gas stations, parking meters & stop signs, the tugboat pulling costco & seacrest trailers piled four high, the manhattan bridge (which we glimpse due to the fact that we�ve missed our street). dusk like a fine greasy film on the turn signal until sarah turns right towards mulberry, on jess�s chopsticks until she pushes them back into her hair, on my arms until I roll down the window and the sweaty air mixes with it like oil with water. then it is dark. an empty parking space on bowery & delancey. $12 tickets because we were not expected. one guest list spot taken up by capitol records lady anyway. whispers of �she signed coldplay� are followed by raised eyebrows or rolled eyes. we are early. empty ballroom. the boys sequestered �backstage� in a small waiting area hidden from view by a heavy brown velvet curtain. window to the bar & the sultry bartender with the dark waves of hair has already informed them that this is �Not a Drive Thru.� later, after their set, after vodka drinks & water, after kissing hello, after catching up on what little has happened in the past three days apart, after the capitol records lady has finished her soliloquy regarding their need to create a bigger fan base, after spying nick nolte sucking on a plastic cigarette holder, after smog�s set, after comparing backgrounds with p�s girlfriend, after worrying that i am all collarbones & cleavage, after waiting for the van loading to be completed, after jumper cables for sarah�s car, after the parking space found on 13th st., after securing a piece of pizza at joe�s, after spying on the latenight-earlymorning french roast clientele on our walk by, after sleeping arrangements are arranged & lights are shut off & sheets have been kicked back: it�s just the two of us, the hot & heavy inside air holds us in place on his custom made mattress. we will have to get up early in the morning. coffee to go from the aforementioned french roast. the waiter will try to flirt with us & we will complain that it is too early. i will correctly steer us from the village to west st. (very easy) but much confusion will ensue after i miscalculate & point to the george washington bridge(oops). sarah�s patience will wear thin but all will be resolved when we end up in a strange new jersey park overrun with canadian geese and soccer players. ?!? sail back on 95north and we are home in three hours.
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