Another one of my famous meandering posts.
11/19/08
So here it is, the coldest night of the year and I'm wandering around Boston with a full bladder and a vague idea of where I am and absolutely no idea where I'm going.
Saved by the golden arches and their for customers only bathroom. I also thank them for their pen which still has the metal ball chain on it. Not very secure. They should get a refund from staples.
The only thing saving me from being labeled homeless is the library copy of The Fellowship of the Ring shoved in my back pocket.
Am I really the only one noticing two kids making out in the middle of McDonalds? Right in the middle of their friends. And the guys pants are so low that half his underwear is hanging out. Yes, you can see crack. Really now, what's the point in wearing a belt in the first place? I'd also be afraid that if I was heavily making out with someone and my underwear is hanging out - well, it's only a matter of time before something else is hanging low. Maybe that's why her binder is laying across both their laps.
I think about these things. The things that take up time in your head when you're walking down the street and things you've forgotten by the time you reach your destination. Inconsequential things that don't matter and have no effect on my life. Yet I think about them and let them take my time away.
Seriously, if I wanted my jeans around my knees I'd wear shorts.
It's 25 degrees out with a God knows what wind chill and I'm thinking about ice cream. About how good ice cream will taste until I walk outside and the cold air slaps me silly. And then I'll regret my decision of ice cream. But only for a moment because I can still taste the vanilla and chocolate. And then I really will when I burp. And I'll laugh to myself because despite the frigid wind, ice cream was the way to go.
The silver chain swings from the end of my stolen pen.
It must have looked pleasant when I yanked the book out from my back pocket. I think I may have grunted. My inner thighs are hurting from my jeans rubbing against cold skin. I saw a guy jogging in a muscle tee and shorts and I promptly exclaimed, "GOD!" to nobody.
I think being cold is something that comes with age. I remember being warm enough in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt during a snowstorm. And I see teenagers now who seem to share that sentiment. I would scoff at the idea of wearing a hat, gloves, and never ever a scarf. Now I'm dressed in four layers plus a jacket, my UPS baseball cap, and a winter hat that ties under the chin. And unlike every other day, it's tied and I'm huddled into myself much like a pissed off turtle. And who passes me but a Boston college student in a light jacket that isn't even zipped up all the way, moseying down the street like it's the middle of April. Put on a damn hat, moron!
It's nice and warm in the hotel lobby. The best thing about this stolen pen is it's built in amusement. When I pause in my writing I stare off into space and make the chain twirl around and hit the pen. I'm wondering what brings all these people to this Boston hotel on a Wednesday night. Well, except for the staff. I think I know why they are here. Swing swing swing thwap thwap thwap.
Oh, and PS - I never got the ice cream.
