Friday, October 19, 2007

Joining him

I'm watching this guy's sideburn spitcurls like short versions of the ones I used to have, the way they frame the profile of his face. I mean I can only see one spitcurl, because I only see one side of his face. I don't understand how this dark spitcurl sits so perfectly against his pale skin, when the rest of his hair looks comparably messy in that just-out-of-bed sort of way. I'm not suggesting that he just got out of bed. Until I realize it's because his hair is curly, that's why the spitcurl curls without effort -- not like mine, it needed gel first then spray.

White button-down shirts can mean anything, I want his to mean I can hug him like the woman next to him, they're both wearing tight suit jackets, velvet or velveteen I'm not exactly sure the difference. Soft fabric it shines. He already took his off. His chair blocks the middle of him since I’m imagining from the back. I'm left to look at his shoes, the ones with a band of color with three circles cut out, this pair has an orange band with gray underneath and when he leans forward I can see the muscles on his back, not muscular just muscles through white shirt. I'm tempted to pretend that I don't know what brand these shoes are, it's sad the way a color combination can be striking even when it reminds you that someone's working for 15 cents an hour. Still, when this guy pulls his legs up onto the chair I want to join him.

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