me if I was staying the night, as we were going up to the
highway the next day early, to hitch a ride to his parent's in Westchester
County, day before Christmas.
I turned to him, and smiled, said "Nope. I'll meet you at the highway?"
But really, he came to the house I stayed over at, which was just like him; rumbling up the old wooden stairs early, hoping to catch someone doing something. Making such a racket - then knocked and tumbled in, doing his best to look sleek. Virile. Cool To anyone at all..
I was sitting at the cramped kitchen table of a third floor walkup in Brattleboro, having the coffee that would jitter me all the way to NY, sitting with my other guy, and his roommate.
She was an odd cookie, and was holding a small dish of honey, talking quietly about all kinds of things in life, while slowly stuffing ants down into the soft golden liquid.
I was listening to her, laughing, grimacing at her hobby, thinking over whether to wear black zip up knock-em-dead boots on the highway, or my shit-kicker VT hiking boots.
Finally I stood, grabbed my back pack, my down jacket, and waved bye to all concerned.
Ran down all those small New Englandey stairs, spilled out into the snow packed yard, heading for I 91.
I turned to him, and smiled, said "Nope. I'll meet you at the highway?"
But really, he came to the house I stayed over at, which was just like him; rumbling up the old wooden stairs early, hoping to catch someone doing something. Making such a racket - then knocked and tumbled in, doing his best to look sleek. Virile. Cool To anyone at all..
I was sitting at the cramped kitchen table of a third floor walkup in Brattleboro, having the coffee that would jitter me all the way to NY, sitting with my other guy, and his roommate.
She was an odd cookie, and was holding a small dish of honey, talking quietly about all kinds of things in life, while slowly stuffing ants down into the soft golden liquid.
I was listening to her, laughing, grimacing at her hobby, thinking over whether to wear black zip up knock-em-dead boots on the highway, or my shit-kicker VT hiking boots.
Finally I stood, grabbed my back pack, my down jacket, and waved bye to all concerned.
Ran down all those small New Englandey stairs, spilled out into the snow packed yard, heading for I 91.
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