galaxies intertwine in your feverish eyes
forged in the fires of familial ties
sanguine in solitude, but socially refined
to poke a needle in the public's eye.
i thought i'd be reckless, give it the college try
hungry for a slice of your schizoaffective pie
before settling down in a place to die
when i blast out west on this adventure of mine
i hope you recognized all the signs
the weird things i did to show you i care
when you're clowning around, i can't help but stare
i'm already lost in the idea of you
and i know what i checked out is long past due
just let me pretend, at least for a night
that a future for us may always burn bright.
Wednesday, November 13, 2019
Tuesday, November 12, 2019
bled
if i remain sweltering in this winter waste
i can't continue starving, hoping for a taste.
if i can't have you, it'll have to be okay
i'll just go back to being a gay bay-bay.
i'm wrestling with how to begin anew
swallowing these lustful thoughts of you.
i can't just settle down with Some Ole DudeTM
i've just come to terms with my own solitude
thinking: some day, surely, i'll get to tie the knot
!! that's what's making me surly: my loyalty's been bought!
Tuesday, November 5, 2019
jagged edges
if i have to step back to align my faith,
allow me then to deny my fate
i've kept to roaming, to trying to get better
to keep my feelings tamed to a letter
i'm fully dedicated to hearing my self
allow me to fight up this muddy hill for wealth
if i copiously confess to confounded convention
then how will i find my own reinvention?
confusedly searching for a new circumvention?
i hope you're ready for a dumb intervention
i can barely live without attention
i'm sorry...
i think that's something i should have mentioned...
allow me then to deny my fate
i've kept to roaming, to trying to get better
to keep my feelings tamed to a letter
i'm fully dedicated to hearing my self
allow me to fight up this muddy hill for wealth
if i copiously confess to confounded convention
then how will i find my own reinvention?
confusedly searching for a new circumvention?
i hope you're ready for a dumb intervention
i can barely live without attention
i'm sorry...
i think that's something i should have mentioned...
soot - 2
Even though he's been here more than three times a week for the past five months, the barista still gives him a bored once-over as Arthur steps up to the counter and rolls his eyes. "What can I get started for you today?"
Art pretends to give a quick glance at the menu, as if he isn't going to get the same "Mocha Frappe with no whipped cream, no mocha, with a shot of espresso." He thinks about texting Cece, thinks better of it.
She'll show when she shows. A quick glance around the room after getting his chilly caffeine reveals that she still hasn't arrived. He makes a move for a table pressed against the window, across from a heavily tatted medical student pouring over piles of papers.
He plops down, pressing his purple notebook onto the table as he shrugs his jacket off. He carefully rolls up the flannel sleeves and flips the notebook open. He thumbs to a pink paper clip and glares down at the empty schedule template, now yellowing with use and various food stains.
Fifteen minutes of meticulously copying the chart, he's become lost in his work. He doesn't spy Cecelia standing in line and actually jumps a little when she plops her oversized purse on the table. "Oh, boy, wait until you hear about the absolute bullshit she's been saying now..."
Arthur smiles a little, marking Jenny for Friday mornings even though she absolutely did not believe they needed a host on Friday mornings, which was funny because when she was serving, she most certainly made it known how upset she was that they didn't have a host at the door. He was high-key hoping she'd quit.
"Oh? Surely it can't be any worse than last week when she insisted that she cheated because you made her do it." Arthur remarks, taking a long sip of his coffee, blinking up through innocent eyelashes.
"Oh fuck off, you know she was just rolling her ass off and Sheena was fresh out of a break-up, one that you had quite the hand in but I guess you forgot all about that. No, she thinks that we should get another dog! Another dog! As if there isn't already enough shit to pick up around that zoo..."
As Cecelia launches into the reasons that she and her ex-fiance/landlord/chiropractor do not need to get another dog - a sentiment which Arthur agreed with, given their pack of seven - he allowed his mind to wander back to that break-up that he very much did cause last week. On accident, of course, but still his fault all the same.
You never know who you'll end up making out with in the darkness of a twenty-four seven gay club.
You also never know who might happen to walk over just when things are getting very touchy-feely on the dance floor of said gay club.
Needless to say, once Cece found out, she'd been quick to let Arthur know that what he had done was wrong, because it had somehow created a domino effect for Sheena, a recovering lesbian, to fall back down the pink rabbit hole, right into the arms of a Home Alone Helen who had been re-decorating the house with blowed-out pupils when Sheena appeared that afternoon, shivering in the rain.
Arthur is beginning to hit the snooze button, as Cece has only ever needed a listening ear to figure out her own problems. Two conversations six years ago was all Arthur needed to realize he was a backboard so she could serve balls to herself. She didn't want any advice he had to offer, she already had the answers. She just needed to take her own steps. A "really?" here and a "but how?' there went a long way with Cece.
"...which is why it's so stupid that she chose this weekend because my nephew is in town for his art show and I'm already worried about how the dogs are going to act because they've never been around ferrets before. I mean, do dogs and ferrets get along? Will he let the thing just run around? I have nothing against ferrets, I just don't know where he can keep it. Maybe we can put it in the basement?"
Arthur's eyes have snapped back into focus as he's suddenly watching her very closely. "I think if your nephew is visiting and bringing his ferret, it's safe to say he isn't gonna be okay with keeping her in the basement." Arthus pops the lid off his drink to take a big gulp. His cheeks are warm and he's suddenly found himself very thirsty.
Cece gives him a weird look, taking a candid photo of him to undoubtedly update her fanatic followers. Cece had been the bar manager of All Sizzle, No Steak for six years, following a cold-feet wedding stunt in Huntsville. She'd started out there as a server and when her emotionally reckless now-roommate realized she didn't have time to manage a rag-tag group of misfits to building an all-vegan restaurant/bar, dipped on their wedding and workplace to run off with a skydiving artist from Nashville. Luckily, Cece had already become the defacto den mother, so Jimmy was more than happy to promote her when they realized Helen wasn't coming back.
Helen eventually came back, as she always does.
"How did you know she was female?" Fuck, why does she have to be such a Virgo?
Arthur accidentally lets the silence go too long.
Cece's eyes widen. "Oh my fuck, you met him didn't you? He's a little fucking prick but he's a genius. You have to see his paintings, they're fucking surreal."
Arthur's head is swimming. Too much information to process. Just before coming in here, he'd decided the redhead had been a fever dream, just the tail end of another sleepless night rolling into the day. A beautiful hallucination he'd never be able to forget.
"He didn't seem so bad to me." Art shrugs, trying to look casual as he takes another sip of coffee.
Cece's eyebrows raise and she's suddenly glaring at him with glittering green eyes. "Arthur Tennyson London. Don't even think about it."
Art smiles out of the corner of his mouth and peers at her as he lowers his coffee. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean."
"Artie, I'm serious. This is an off-limits kind of situation, there is so much you don't know. God, I should have known he'd do this again..."
Arthur's eyebrows are furrowing now, more serious than curious. "Do what again?"
"Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. You're an adult, you can find out on your own." She's standing up and Arthur looks up, worried she'll leave before he can ask more questions about her beautiful nephew. Visiting? Art Show? Emotional baggage? What more could a provocative water-bearer want?
"What do you mean it doesn't matter now? Aren't you going to- Ahhhhhhh, HeLLLO." Arthur finishes his sentence with a much-too-loud greeting as he's turning in his chair to see why Cece has gotten out of her chair.
That hair. Arthur is entraced as the man of his dreams (literally - he'd seen the stranger do a kickflip 890 off of a giant scoop of strawberry ice cream last night) strolls toward them, completely ignoring the barista who has perked up and is bouncing on his toes to greet the stranger.
He's wearing a different jacket today, though the sleeping ferret still rests on his shoulders, this time in a purple vest. An artist never repeats an outfit. Then: Shut up, Arthur, that's not the moral of the story here. Oh fuck, he's looking at you, you have to say something. Anything!
"Nice boots. An artist never repeats an outfit, right?"
The stranger glances down at the calf-high patent leather boots and smirks, tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth. He gives Cece a tight hug and curt kiss on the cheek before sitting down in her seat across from Arthur. She frowns and huffs, stepping around him to sit in the seat by the window, pulling out her phone.
"I'm not sure I can agree with that. It would be economically silly to not wear your clothes again. Aren't they meant for wear and tear?"
Arthur, likely emboldened from listening to Cece ceaselessly ramble for an hour, is quick for the volley. "I don't know if you can use 'economically' and 'silly' in the same sentence. I think it's an oxymoron."
The smirk gets bigger. "Well, sure, but do you think the capitalistic society really pushes us to use, use, use and waste waste waste? Or is it not trying to give us hope, train us up and spit out those who can't hack it?"
"Can't really tell if you're trying to deny planned obsoletion which is absolutely a thing or argue that capitalism actually provides fair opportunities to everyone, which is simply not true."
The man leans down to place his chin on his hands which he's poitely folded on the top of the table. "So you're saying that artists making art out of whatever they can didn't first have the opportunity to seize that vision? They were somehow afforded the opportunity to create and continuously choose to change clothes every day because an artist never wears the same outfit?" Those haunting blue eyes bore into him.
Arthur is warm all over. He feels it especially in his neck, warming where his Adam's Apple should be. It's the last of his surgeries. He wants it to be over with, though he knows he passes well. No one even misgenders him anymore. Why would they? He has a full beard, a standard bulge, and a flat flat flat chest. Years of focus, struggle, and sacrifice brought him to where he is today. He fully intends to carpe his diem.
Say it. Say It. Say It. SAY it. SAY IT.
"Well, with an art partner like me, you wouldn't need anything but the one outfit anyway because you'd be naked in my house all day."
"Alright, I think that's my cue. I'll see you boys later." Cece rolls her eyes as she makes a big show of leaving the table, kissing the stranger on the top of the head. "Don't get into too much trouble, Dustin."
It's now Arthur's chance to smirk. "Yes, Dustin, don't get in too much trouble."
Dustin is staring across the table at him, with an unreadable expression. Arthur is suddenly very aware of how forward he's dove. It was playful before, just jabs back and forth at the other's ability to think on the spot. This is the first time Arthur's actually hit on him. Why did you have to hit on him like that, you dumbass? Now he's gonna run and you'll never see him again and people will watch you slink out of the shop with that stupid look on your
"Bold of you to assume I'm a neophile. What if I'm terribly afraid of new experiences?"
For the first time, there's a tug of vulnerability in the artist's piercing glance. Arthur softens, like cheese on a burger and leans in slightly to murmur.
"I can show you the world."
Dustin smirks and leans in. Arthur gets a quiet whiff of Little Miss Sierra Godiva, who smells of baby soap and fur. He's in sensory overload and doesn't know where his own aura stops and Dustin's begins.
"Shining shimmering splendid?"
Arthur grabs him by the chin.
Art pretends to give a quick glance at the menu, as if he isn't going to get the same "Mocha Frappe with no whipped cream, no mocha, with a shot of espresso." He thinks about texting Cece, thinks better of it.
She'll show when she shows. A quick glance around the room after getting his chilly caffeine reveals that she still hasn't arrived. He makes a move for a table pressed against the window, across from a heavily tatted medical student pouring over piles of papers.
He plops down, pressing his purple notebook onto the table as he shrugs his jacket off. He carefully rolls up the flannel sleeves and flips the notebook open. He thumbs to a pink paper clip and glares down at the empty schedule template, now yellowing with use and various food stains.
Fifteen minutes of meticulously copying the chart, he's become lost in his work. He doesn't spy Cecelia standing in line and actually jumps a little when she plops her oversized purse on the table. "Oh, boy, wait until you hear about the absolute bullshit she's been saying now..."
Arthur smiles a little, marking Jenny for Friday mornings even though she absolutely did not believe they needed a host on Friday mornings, which was funny because when she was serving, she most certainly made it known how upset she was that they didn't have a host at the door. He was high-key hoping she'd quit.
"Oh? Surely it can't be any worse than last week when she insisted that she cheated because you made her do it." Arthur remarks, taking a long sip of his coffee, blinking up through innocent eyelashes.
"Oh fuck off, you know she was just rolling her ass off and Sheena was fresh out of a break-up, one that you had quite the hand in but I guess you forgot all about that. No, she thinks that we should get another dog! Another dog! As if there isn't already enough shit to pick up around that zoo..."
As Cecelia launches into the reasons that she and her ex-fiance/landlord/chiropractor do not need to get another dog - a sentiment which Arthur agreed with, given their pack of seven - he allowed his mind to wander back to that break-up that he very much did cause last week. On accident, of course, but still his fault all the same.
You never know who you'll end up making out with in the darkness of a twenty-four seven gay club.
You also never know who might happen to walk over just when things are getting very touchy-feely on the dance floor of said gay club.
Needless to say, once Cece found out, she'd been quick to let Arthur know that what he had done was wrong, because it had somehow created a domino effect for Sheena, a recovering lesbian, to fall back down the pink rabbit hole, right into the arms of a Home Alone Helen who had been re-decorating the house with blowed-out pupils when Sheena appeared that afternoon, shivering in the rain.
Arthur is beginning to hit the snooze button, as Cece has only ever needed a listening ear to figure out her own problems. Two conversations six years ago was all Arthur needed to realize he was a backboard so she could serve balls to herself. She didn't want any advice he had to offer, she already had the answers. She just needed to take her own steps. A "really?" here and a "but how?' there went a long way with Cece.
"...which is why it's so stupid that she chose this weekend because my nephew is in town for his art show and I'm already worried about how the dogs are going to act because they've never been around ferrets before. I mean, do dogs and ferrets get along? Will he let the thing just run around? I have nothing against ferrets, I just don't know where he can keep it. Maybe we can put it in the basement?"
Arthur's eyes have snapped back into focus as he's suddenly watching her very closely. "I think if your nephew is visiting and bringing his ferret, it's safe to say he isn't gonna be okay with keeping her in the basement." Arthus pops the lid off his drink to take a big gulp. His cheeks are warm and he's suddenly found himself very thirsty.
Cece gives him a weird look, taking a candid photo of him to undoubtedly update her fanatic followers. Cece had been the bar manager of All Sizzle, No Steak for six years, following a cold-feet wedding stunt in Huntsville. She'd started out there as a server and when her emotionally reckless now-roommate realized she didn't have time to manage a rag-tag group of misfits to building an all-vegan restaurant/bar, dipped on their wedding and workplace to run off with a skydiving artist from Nashville. Luckily, Cece had already become the defacto den mother, so Jimmy was more than happy to promote her when they realized Helen wasn't coming back.
Helen eventually came back, as she always does.
"How did you know she was female?" Fuck, why does she have to be such a Virgo?
Arthur accidentally lets the silence go too long.
Cece's eyes widen. "Oh my fuck, you met him didn't you? He's a little fucking prick but he's a genius. You have to see his paintings, they're fucking surreal."
Arthur's head is swimming. Too much information to process. Just before coming in here, he'd decided the redhead had been a fever dream, just the tail end of another sleepless night rolling into the day. A beautiful hallucination he'd never be able to forget.
"He didn't seem so bad to me." Art shrugs, trying to look casual as he takes another sip of coffee.
Cece's eyebrows raise and she's suddenly glaring at him with glittering green eyes. "Arthur Tennyson London. Don't even think about it."
Art smiles out of the corner of his mouth and peers at her as he lowers his coffee. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean."
"Artie, I'm serious. This is an off-limits kind of situation, there is so much you don't know. God, I should have known he'd do this again..."
Arthur's eyebrows are furrowing now, more serious than curious. "Do what again?"
"Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. You're an adult, you can find out on your own." She's standing up and Arthur looks up, worried she'll leave before he can ask more questions about her beautiful nephew. Visiting? Art Show? Emotional baggage? What more could a provocative water-bearer want?
"What do you mean it doesn't matter now? Aren't you going to- Ahhhhhhh, HeLLLO." Arthur finishes his sentence with a much-too-loud greeting as he's turning in his chair to see why Cece has gotten out of her chair.
That hair. Arthur is entraced as the man of his dreams (literally - he'd seen the stranger do a kickflip 890 off of a giant scoop of strawberry ice cream last night) strolls toward them, completely ignoring the barista who has perked up and is bouncing on his toes to greet the stranger.
He's wearing a different jacket today, though the sleeping ferret still rests on his shoulders, this time in a purple vest. An artist never repeats an outfit. Then: Shut up, Arthur, that's not the moral of the story here. Oh fuck, he's looking at you, you have to say something. Anything!
"Nice boots. An artist never repeats an outfit, right?"
The stranger glances down at the calf-high patent leather boots and smirks, tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth. He gives Cece a tight hug and curt kiss on the cheek before sitting down in her seat across from Arthur. She frowns and huffs, stepping around him to sit in the seat by the window, pulling out her phone.
"I'm not sure I can agree with that. It would be economically silly to not wear your clothes again. Aren't they meant for wear and tear?"
Arthur, likely emboldened from listening to Cece ceaselessly ramble for an hour, is quick for the volley. "I don't know if you can use 'economically' and 'silly' in the same sentence. I think it's an oxymoron."
The smirk gets bigger. "Well, sure, but do you think the capitalistic society really pushes us to use, use, use and waste waste waste? Or is it not trying to give us hope, train us up and spit out those who can't hack it?"
"Can't really tell if you're trying to deny planned obsoletion which is absolutely a thing or argue that capitalism actually provides fair opportunities to everyone, which is simply not true."
The man leans down to place his chin on his hands which he's poitely folded on the top of the table. "So you're saying that artists making art out of whatever they can didn't first have the opportunity to seize that vision? They were somehow afforded the opportunity to create and continuously choose to change clothes every day because an artist never wears the same outfit?" Those haunting blue eyes bore into him.
Arthur is warm all over. He feels it especially in his neck, warming where his Adam's Apple should be. It's the last of his surgeries. He wants it to be over with, though he knows he passes well. No one even misgenders him anymore. Why would they? He has a full beard, a standard bulge, and a flat flat flat chest. Years of focus, struggle, and sacrifice brought him to where he is today. He fully intends to carpe his diem.
Say it. Say It. Say It. SAY it. SAY IT.
"Well, with an art partner like me, you wouldn't need anything but the one outfit anyway because you'd be naked in my house all day."
"Alright, I think that's my cue. I'll see you boys later." Cece rolls her eyes as she makes a big show of leaving the table, kissing the stranger on the top of the head. "Don't get into too much trouble, Dustin."
It's now Arthur's chance to smirk. "Yes, Dustin, don't get in too much trouble."
Dustin is staring across the table at him, with an unreadable expression. Arthur is suddenly very aware of how forward he's dove. It was playful before, just jabs back and forth at the other's ability to think on the spot. This is the first time Arthur's actually hit on him. Why did you have to hit on him like that, you dumbass? Now he's gonna run and you'll never see him again and people will watch you slink out of the shop with that stupid look on your
"Bold of you to assume I'm a neophile. What if I'm terribly afraid of new experiences?"
For the first time, there's a tug of vulnerability in the artist's piercing glance. Arthur softens, like cheese on a burger and leans in slightly to murmur.
"I can show you the world."
Dustin smirks and leans in. Arthur gets a quiet whiff of Little Miss Sierra Godiva, who smells of baby soap and fur. He's in sensory overload and doesn't know where his own aura stops and Dustin's begins.
"Shining shimmering splendid?"
Arthur grabs him by the chin.
Monday, November 4, 2019
moot - 1
He exhales a long puff, a gaseous mixture of breath and carcinogens billowing across the alleyway. It's too small, of course. He knew it would be when he bought the building. He couldn't help it though - it was too good of a location to pass up. There would be nothing but business during both the summer and winter months, due to the proximity to local housing for when the students of the booming college town inevitably left to spend their school breaks frolicking their youth away.
As he's childishly trying to blow a smoke ring with the cancerous smoke, his eyes dart to a figure ducking up the alley. Art coughs suddenly, spit dribbling down his chin as he locks eyes with the stranger. The thin man approaching him smirks and gives Art a pointed once-over as he continues strutting up the walk.
The man is too tall, bent over at the shoulders as if to make himself appear smaller. He has light copper hair that is piled on the top of his head, tendrils wisping around his reddened face, nose pink from exposure to the strong winter wind. The man's hands are stuffed in the pockets of an olive green bomber jacket that has black stripes running up the arms.
What Art thought was an oversized scarf slowly reveals itself to be the form a ferret, sporting a tiny red sweater, snoozing against the back of the man's neck. Art's mouth falls open slightly at the sight as the man gets closer and closer.
Say something, you idiot.
"You smoke?" Art cleverly blurts, holding out the half a cigarette he'd all but forgotten staring at this beautiful stranger.
The redhead pauses and glances down at Art's outstretched hand. Art's heart is racing. He hopes it isn't audible.
"When the urge strikes." His voice isn't nearly as deep as Art had expected. It's whimsical, throaty, and looming. Each word sounds calculated, sensuous. Art's so busy trying to get the man's hum out of his head that he doesn't see what the stranger's doing.
He's leaned down and is taking the cigarette from Art's hand. He'd only been holding it at waist level, a half-hearted offering that he was sure would be denied. The stranger is now bent at the waist, peering up at Art with terribly crystal blue eyes, lips brushing Art's fingertips as he takes a drag.
Art's cheeks warm with the intimacy of the moment. You dumbass, there isn't anything intimate about this. He's just fucking with you. He knows you're interested. This is just a tease, this is just a tease, this is just
"You come around here often, Eric?"
Art looks around as he takes a drag from the cigarette to fill the space. His leg has begun jittering and, to his dismay, he notices the cigarette tastes like fucking strawberry chapstick.
"I'm sorry?"
The man smirks again and holds out his hand for the cigarette. "That's what I've decided to call you since you've decided to stare at me instead of introduce yourself."
Art's cheeks get warm again and he thanks his ancestral gods for the seven hundreth time for his dark complexion. He would have never made it this far if people could see how often he blushed. Well, that's what he tells himself anyway.
"Oh, fuck, my bad. I'm Arthur. Arthur London." He reaches a hand out to shake, second-guesses it and casually moves his hand up to rub the back of his neck as if hoping his action wouldn't be noticed.
It is. The man's eyes follow Art's hand on its whole journey and he gives another smirk. It's a smile with secrets. "Well, Arthur London, I have to get Little Miss Sierra Godiva home before we both freeze to death in your alleyway." He's already backing away, cigarette in hand. "Thank you ever so kindly for the smoke." He gives a grandiose bow, nearly dislodging the sleeping Sierra who gives a sleepy snort.
The weird little fire of hope that had sparked in the pit of his stomach when he'd first seen the stranger began to flicker. Don't lose him! He didn't even tell you his name! This could be big! This Could Be Big! This Could Be Big SABOTAGE SABOTAGE SABOTAGE ALERT ALERT MAYDAY MAY
"But will I ever see you again?" He calls out, realizing how pathetic he must look, a chubby twenty-something queer black man standing between his two green dumpsters panting in the cold like a bitch in heat after a random encounter with a sexy stray.
Okay, we really need to unpack those kinks someday, buddy.
The man laughs (actually laughs!) and it has a ringing quality to it, like the bells Arthur played during his childhood church's Christmas service. His voice sounds like all of the bells, in a haunting ringing kind of way.
"Oh, this is only the beginning, Artie." The man is still walking away, waving an arm over his shoulder as his words echo back toward Art.
Arthur blinks a few times. He looks down and kicks at the dumpster to make sure he's not dreaming. The pain shoots to the front of his foot just as he remembers he's not wearing his steel-toe boots and he hops around with cartoonish fervor, cursing himself.
This is only the beginning, Artie.
The words boggle around in his brain all day until he finally tricks himself into slumber.
As he's childishly trying to blow a smoke ring with the cancerous smoke, his eyes dart to a figure ducking up the alley. Art coughs suddenly, spit dribbling down his chin as he locks eyes with the stranger. The thin man approaching him smirks and gives Art a pointed once-over as he continues strutting up the walk.
The man is too tall, bent over at the shoulders as if to make himself appear smaller. He has light copper hair that is piled on the top of his head, tendrils wisping around his reddened face, nose pink from exposure to the strong winter wind. The man's hands are stuffed in the pockets of an olive green bomber jacket that has black stripes running up the arms.
What Art thought was an oversized scarf slowly reveals itself to be the form a ferret, sporting a tiny red sweater, snoozing against the back of the man's neck. Art's mouth falls open slightly at the sight as the man gets closer and closer.
Say something, you idiot.
"You smoke?" Art cleverly blurts, holding out the half a cigarette he'd all but forgotten staring at this beautiful stranger.
The redhead pauses and glances down at Art's outstretched hand. Art's heart is racing. He hopes it isn't audible.
"When the urge strikes." His voice isn't nearly as deep as Art had expected. It's whimsical, throaty, and looming. Each word sounds calculated, sensuous. Art's so busy trying to get the man's hum out of his head that he doesn't see what the stranger's doing.
He's leaned down and is taking the cigarette from Art's hand. He'd only been holding it at waist level, a half-hearted offering that he was sure would be denied. The stranger is now bent at the waist, peering up at Art with terribly crystal blue eyes, lips brushing Art's fingertips as he takes a drag.
Art's cheeks warm with the intimacy of the moment. You dumbass, there isn't anything intimate about this. He's just fucking with you. He knows you're interested. This is just a tease, this is just a tease, this is just
"You come around here often, Eric?"
Art looks around as he takes a drag from the cigarette to fill the space. His leg has begun jittering and, to his dismay, he notices the cigarette tastes like fucking strawberry chapstick.
"I'm sorry?"
The man smirks again and holds out his hand for the cigarette. "That's what I've decided to call you since you've decided to stare at me instead of introduce yourself."
Art's cheeks get warm again and he thanks his ancestral gods for the seven hundreth time for his dark complexion. He would have never made it this far if people could see how often he blushed. Well, that's what he tells himself anyway.
"Oh, fuck, my bad. I'm Arthur. Arthur London." He reaches a hand out to shake, second-guesses it and casually moves his hand up to rub the back of his neck as if hoping his action wouldn't be noticed.
It is. The man's eyes follow Art's hand on its whole journey and he gives another smirk. It's a smile with secrets. "Well, Arthur London, I have to get Little Miss Sierra Godiva home before we both freeze to death in your alleyway." He's already backing away, cigarette in hand. "Thank you ever so kindly for the smoke." He gives a grandiose bow, nearly dislodging the sleeping Sierra who gives a sleepy snort.
The weird little fire of hope that had sparked in the pit of his stomach when he'd first seen the stranger began to flicker. Don't lose him! He didn't even tell you his name! This could be big! This Could Be Big! This Could Be Big SABOTAGE SABOTAGE SABOTAGE ALERT ALERT MAYDAY MAY
"But will I ever see you again?" He calls out, realizing how pathetic he must look, a chubby twenty-something queer black man standing between his two green dumpsters panting in the cold like a bitch in heat after a random encounter with a sexy stray.
Okay, we really need to unpack those kinks someday, buddy.
The man laughs (actually laughs!) and it has a ringing quality to it, like the bells Arthur played during his childhood church's Christmas service. His voice sounds like all of the bells, in a haunting ringing kind of way.
"Oh, this is only the beginning, Artie." The man is still walking away, waving an arm over his shoulder as his words echo back toward Art.
Arthur blinks a few times. He looks down and kicks at the dumpster to make sure he's not dreaming. The pain shoots to the front of his foot just as he remembers he's not wearing his steel-toe boots and he hops around with cartoonish fervor, cursing himself.
This is only the beginning, Artie.
The words boggle around in his brain all day until he finally tricks himself into slumber.
Reading - K 2 J - 11/4
I didn't include the stuff we already talked about, just went into detail for the little lines I had to scope out! I didn't put in any of the bad stuff but there really wasn't anything major :) Enjoy, Ms. Jackie!!!
Displaced Mount Of Mercury - excellent sense of humor and eloquent speaker, you express yourself very well!
We both have this!! Displaced Mount Of Venus (under the thumb) - this person has an ability for rhythm, and an interest in music and dancing, usually a talent for both
Lines running parallel on the Lower Mars and Mount of Venus under the thumb) are called Lines of Influence and show people who have a strong influence on your life. The deeper the line, the deeper the connection.
A square on the Mount of Venus (closer to the bottom of the palm) acts as protection against risky involvements and heartbreaks. Natural emotional protection!
The Upper Mount of Mars (halfway down the palm, underneath the pinkie) leans toward the Mount of the Moon, indicating that this person will have a meekness of spirit, tremendous patience and a tranquil nature. They will be endowed with hypnotic powers that enable them to influence others, even though they are not aware of those powers. They are often very independent.
The Upper Mount of Mars is also overdeveloped which means you may not fight physically. This is a mark of intelligence; you will not be afraid to stand up for your rights. You are an inventor, a pioneer, and you love gambling.
The Lower Mount of Mars (just above the thumb, lined up with the index finger) is displaced toward the Mount of Jupiter (right underneath the index finger) to indicate the power of initiative action and ambition, due to your personal dignity and pride.
A cross on the Mount of the Moon (across from the thumb, near the heel of the palm) indicates you could go to extremes easily. You are excitable and have exaggerated views on some things.
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When your Heart Line curves up between the Mount of Jupiter and Saturn at the base of those fingers, it indicates a sentimental person, but one who shows a little more common sense when dealing with loved ones. The curve of the line is still an exaggeration of the Heart Line, which makes you generous and caring.
If the Heart Line has a large, strong branch line falling to the Head Line and merging itself into the line, this indicates that the heart has surrendered and you will be ruled by your head.
If the Heart Line has a branch rising to the Mount of Saturn, it indicates you'll be attracted to someone of Saturnian qualities such as scholarly, scientific, mining, or horticultural aptitudes. You love a person who is sober, cautious and has wisdom.
When the Head and Life Lines show a small gap between them, it indicates your independence coming early in life. You are not afraid to stand alone. You are self-contained and self-starters. If you have an ambitious nature, you are likely to achieve it without outside help.
When you Head Line slopes toward the Mount of the Moon and is long and strong, you will be a sensible, self contained person with a good imagination.
Your Success Line (underneath the ring finger, extending from the bottom of the palm) is wavy, which means you will not know whether to choose a career. You are brilliant and talented, but have trouble going forward in one direction. The line becomes stronger when it reaches the Mount of Apollo which means you will accomplish a career as you become older.
You have cutting-bars that interfere on the Line of Success which are caused by various problems. The bars, however, are little fine lines, which mean they are only annoying interference that cause worry. These problems will be easy to surmount with patience.
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Many Crosses scattered over the palm are Psychic or "Witches" Crosses, the hand of an old soul. These people are in tune with the future and have psychic ability.
Because the Quadrangle (space between Heart & Head Lines) is wider under the Mount of Apollo, you are sensitive about your reputation and public opinion You are very careful of your public image and want to always give a good impression of yourself.
Displaced Mount Of Mercury - excellent sense of humor and eloquent speaker, you express yourself very well!
We both have this!! Displaced Mount Of Venus (under the thumb) - this person has an ability for rhythm, and an interest in music and dancing, usually a talent for both
Lines running parallel on the Lower Mars and Mount of Venus under the thumb) are called Lines of Influence and show people who have a strong influence on your life. The deeper the line, the deeper the connection.
A square on the Mount of Venus (closer to the bottom of the palm) acts as protection against risky involvements and heartbreaks. Natural emotional protection!
The Upper Mount of Mars (halfway down the palm, underneath the pinkie) leans toward the Mount of the Moon, indicating that this person will have a meekness of spirit, tremendous patience and a tranquil nature. They will be endowed with hypnotic powers that enable them to influence others, even though they are not aware of those powers. They are often very independent.
The Upper Mount of Mars is also overdeveloped which means you may not fight physically. This is a mark of intelligence; you will not be afraid to stand up for your rights. You are an inventor, a pioneer, and you love gambling.
The Lower Mount of Mars (just above the thumb, lined up with the index finger) is displaced toward the Mount of Jupiter (right underneath the index finger) to indicate the power of initiative action and ambition, due to your personal dignity and pride.
A cross on the Mount of the Moon (across from the thumb, near the heel of the palm) indicates you could go to extremes easily. You are excitable and have exaggerated views on some things.
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When your Heart Line curves up between the Mount of Jupiter and Saturn at the base of those fingers, it indicates a sentimental person, but one who shows a little more common sense when dealing with loved ones. The curve of the line is still an exaggeration of the Heart Line, which makes you generous and caring.
If the Heart Line has a large, strong branch line falling to the Head Line and merging itself into the line, this indicates that the heart has surrendered and you will be ruled by your head.
If the Heart Line has a branch rising to the Mount of Saturn, it indicates you'll be attracted to someone of Saturnian qualities such as scholarly, scientific, mining, or horticultural aptitudes. You love a person who is sober, cautious and has wisdom.
When the Head and Life Lines show a small gap between them, it indicates your independence coming early in life. You are not afraid to stand alone. You are self-contained and self-starters. If you have an ambitious nature, you are likely to achieve it without outside help.
When you Head Line slopes toward the Mount of the Moon and is long and strong, you will be a sensible, self contained person with a good imagination.
Your Success Line (underneath the ring finger, extending from the bottom of the palm) is wavy, which means you will not know whether to choose a career. You are brilliant and talented, but have trouble going forward in one direction. The line becomes stronger when it reaches the Mount of Apollo which means you will accomplish a career as you become older.
You have cutting-bars that interfere on the Line of Success which are caused by various problems. The bars, however, are little fine lines, which mean they are only annoying interference that cause worry. These problems will be easy to surmount with patience.
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Many Crosses scattered over the palm are Psychic or "Witches" Crosses, the hand of an old soul. These people are in tune with the future and have psychic ability.
Because the Quadrangle (space between Heart & Head Lines) is wider under the Mount of Apollo, you are sensitive about your reputation and public opinion You are very careful of your public image and want to always give a good impression of yourself.
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