Sunday, June 8, 2008

Chipper? yes, mofo, chipper. (04/20/07)

Current mood: chipper

Can't even believe that's a mood choice. Bringing you sexy out of the way mood choices since 1978! Stay tuned for "morose," "apprehensive," and "recumbent."

The day was so pretty today even this city couldn't pollute it.

it occurs to me when I got out and walk around and ride the train or do whatever it is I do how many god damned people I see in the course of my excursion. Today they looked alright, for the most part. Take, for example:

The lady crossing Atlantic Avenue (big ass busy road in Brooklyn) with her orange dyed ponytail hair looking down huffing and puffing her husband/brother/man approximately the same age as her across with the solid red hand sign telling her not to. Dude's fat as crap, easily twice her weight, in a wheelchair, with one eye looking in the wrong direction from the other, all in sweatpants, just happy, all glazed over, kicked back, nearly retarded content basking happy.

The little girl in the superhero cape waving her wand at everybody as they walk by on court street.

The guy ordering the sub in Esposito's (italian butcher i go to) with oil and vinegar on it. Guy behind the counter, "What's that bro?" "I said oil and vinegar, none of that vegetable shit." Guy laughs, got tattoos and a yankees hat, making the sub. "yah. None of that green ugly shit, right?"

The guy in D'Amico's Coffee and Pastry where they roast their own beans and they've got the door open and the roaster's crammed in the corner right near the doorway so that the steam spinning from the beans lathes the whole sidewalk for a block around it in that pungent nearly stank sex smell of too close to the oil of the bean coffee. And I'm getting Frank's Birthday Blend and the dude--more tattoos--is asking me two, three times if I want the beans ground, and he shakes his head. "Long day already."

"At least it's nice out."

"Yeah way to rub it in." Not even a pause, not even a beat, and it's out his mouth. And I laugh with my whole mouth and jab him with my arm.

Or the whole fucking 4 train going brooklyn bound from borough hall, the whole dang thing filled because no trains seem to be running that way, and there's middle school kids crawling the walls. It buzzes like an electric circular saw or something and sometimes someone explodes, usually a girl, with this singing SHRIEK and you see they're pushing her against one of the bars. I'm crammed up behind this tall jamaican girl with fried out braided orange weave---same color as the lady pushing the fat happy wheelchair fella--and she's got that bulgy neck fat, me crammed so close to her that we're practically in a sexual position. She doesn't even notice, just kinda slides around talking to her girl sitting down next to her. Nearly takes my fingers off as she leans against the pole I'm holding to stay upright, waiting for it to end. The zoo bulges past its bars with the middle schoolers again,

"I said what the FUCK is on your head???@!!!"

And this old dude, maybe sixty something, sitting right near me, two over from the jamaican girl's friend. He's got a cane and cellophane tape that seems to be acting like a bandaid on his finger, a green hat with a yellow lowercase "g" on it all folded and old wool looking. He's got dark glasses on but I can see his empty eyes behind them, and he's serene through it all with that perfect blend of seenitallbefore and ain'tadamnthingyoucandoaboutit. All the ladies in the train that are mom age or beyond, lookin like they have grown kids, are shaking their heads, righteous, convinced they did better with their twentysomethings and the ones with schoolage kids still saying what a pity what a shame, where are the parents.

Everybody always seems to be wondering who left the lights on when they see something they don't like, whether it's on the train or otherwise.

And then I'm walking again before this before I knew I'd get crammed up in a dryhump sexual position with a bulging necked jamaican girl with her wig fried out, in the clear blue wispy clouded sky with the spring wind that makes you know it's spring because it's got a faint tinge of winter still in in it, that cool mellow blowing the most beautiful girl in the world my way. She's like Thai or something, with big buggy sunglasses and model hair. But not showy, just in a simple little black dress. And I nearly bow to her before I get caught off guard and nearly run over by a middle eastern dude driving a minivan tearing ass through the side roads.

I'm still reeling from the most beautiful girl with perfect model hair blowing in the winter tinged spring breeze when I buy my peas from the little produce stand at the corner of Court and Atlantic. I'm second in line waiting for the Ukrainian checkout girl (sometimes she wears a pin with the orange and blue flag on it) and the lady in front of me, though done with her transaction, is counting her change as she puts it back into her purse, looking at the receipt, checking the total against her goods, who freaking knows--in a word: taking a slow snail trail forEVER. And she jolts herself like she's been hit with big voltage when she sees me:

"Oh! I'm so sorry--I didn't even see you."

Me thinking just the way I like it and smiling and bowing for her the bow I had reserved leftover from the most beautiful girl in the world but couldn't use because I had to avoid traffic fatality. And as she's holding the door and I'm putting my peas on the counter for the Ukrainian check out girl the manager sets half a honeydew melon down on the other checkout that's closed, nods to the other checkout girl, who's Indian, and motions she should ring up the honeydew for what appears to be a woman about 90 years old. She's fairly blind, with those giant anti-UV anti-INfrared Anti-sight wraparound glasses on, looking stevie wonder around the place like she can't see the checkout that's right there, and smiling like the sweatpant lolling wheelchair guy. The Indian checkout lady says,

"One forty nine."

Again, without pause, and here she shows how spry she is, how her ninety year old sparrow boned body survived on a friday afternoon on court street in brooklyn, "149? That was the school I went to!"

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