The Condition
My Mom and Step-Dad are gone checking out a Florida time-share today so I drove myself to school. I try to avoid doing this because given the shape me car's frame is in if I had an accident (quite likely for me) it would be like I was riding in a big eggshell. My scrambled remains would be frying in the pavement, id I mention it's getting warm again? This time I think it is for real and won't switch back to colder weather. Anyway since I'm alone I think, I'll get up when I damn well feel like it. This means I got up late, so I decided to take the highway downtown instead of going through 6th Street which is always congested due to endless construction. As I was driving I saw a shinny new BMW, black too which is my favorite car color. What a lucky guy I thought. Then I realized it was Dean. I'm usually not the jealous type but why is it that the girl I've been lusting over for two years falls for this guy the first day they meet and also just happens to drive my dream car? That's bullshit; someone is having a good laugh at my expense right now.
When I got to school I spent the first couple of minutes prying keys out of the keyboard and rearranging them. A proctor from the office handed me one of those pink While You Were Out slips, on it was my Dad's work number phone number with the "urgent" box checked. I left the class and went to nearest office and called him. He said he wanted to inform me that some gang activity was rumored to occur at the school today and because he worked at the Sheriff Department they knew about it and he wanted to make sure I did too. He also told me not to tell anyone else because people might start to panic. Ironic, because I noticed a long line was starting to form outside the office to use the phones. Earlier this year when there was a bomb threat nearly half the school left, the streets around the school were crowed with parents trying to get their kids out. Most of the people in line were freshman who were not used to this kind of stuff like the upper classmen were. However their concern seemed more reasonable this time given the recent gang related activity
in the area.
Later in creative writing we took a walk through the neighborhoods that encompass the school. The teacher said that every neighborhood has it's own stories, histories and culture and she wanted us to write about them. Since this one was nearby it was decided we would write about it. H. Park is an interesting place to live; it has a lot of the cities older architecture, some going back to the 1800s. They look nice when renovated, but only a few houses like this exist. Most are extremely run down low-income places. My teacher lives here, of course. With a teacher's salary I didn't expect her to be one of my neighbors in the west hills or anything. We stopped at a nice quaint cafe, and a church were the old man who was clutching a Reader's Digest was concerned about letting a mob of kids inside. When he finally let us in some students said they wanted to steal the candy that for sale for the church and I told them that it was okay, because Christianity was all about atonement and you could do whatever you wanted so long as you apologized later. Luckily upon leaving the church I was not stuck by lightening. We also visited a nice old Bed & Breakfast that the lady who lived there alone said was English gothic tutor style. Not sure what this means, but the place was old. The rooms were really plush; they all had those big beds with the posts. I asked Gillian if she wanted to rent a room here one night for sex and she said no. Once she hopped up on one of the beds she grinned and she was reconsidering my offer. I know she was joking but I liked the idea. Someone asked if the keeper of the bed and breakfast had ever seen any ghost there and she said no but some guest had reported sightings of them. She was very strange, probably the result of living in a Clue-like mansion all alone. She told us that she believed God blessed the Bed and Breakfast and she was waiting for God to send her a husband, and if there were any ghosts who lived there; they were probably benevolent and she hoped to meet Him (the first owner ft he place). Weirdy said she was only interested in getting into His pants (do ghost wear pants?). In the old library Dean found Dinotopia among the dusty old volumes, which seemed like an anachronism, but so did the satellite dish on top of the tattered farm-like house we passed earlier. Weirdy said that he like the statue of the naked lady on the lawn and someone said she was fat. After that there was a conversation of how in the past fat women were considered attractive because it symbolized wealth. We stopped to see our Teacher’s home and the town's oldest tree on the way home. The lawns were all green and the flowers were all in bloom. The tree looked as if it was the only thing dead in the area. Closer inspection revealed some tiny pathetic looking buds on the end of a decaying tree branch. The trunk had big bulges in it that looked like tumors. It would have been funny if someone had stapled a garage sale sign to the trunk. Some of the trees and telephone poles around here look as if they've had a million things posted on them. There are layer upon layers of tape, nails and staples.
We went back to school and I saw some reporters. One of them was carrying some camera equipment the other a woman in front was trying to suppress a grin. She was walking quickly as if she was on the West Wing, apparently excited about getting a good story. The neighborhood seemed so peaceful while we were there. It was difficult to believe that there was so much violence. The reporter was going to be upset, nothing happened.
SAY THIS:
Ki ki la coquette aimait beaucoup
Coco le concasseur de cacao.
Kiki la coquette avait envie d;un
Caraco kaki a col de caracu.l
When I got to school I spent the first couple of minutes prying keys out of the keyboard and rearranging them. A proctor from the office handed me one of those pink While You Were Out slips, on it was my Dad's work number phone number with the "urgent" box checked. I left the class and went to nearest office and called him. He said he wanted to inform me that some gang activity was rumored to occur at the school today and because he worked at the Sheriff Department they knew about it and he wanted to make sure I did too. He also told me not to tell anyone else because people might start to panic. Ironic, because I noticed a long line was starting to form outside the office to use the phones. Earlier this year when there was a bomb threat nearly half the school left, the streets around the school were crowed with parents trying to get their kids out. Most of the people in line were freshman who were not used to this kind of stuff like the upper classmen were. However their concern seemed more reasonable this time given the recent gang related activity
in the area.
Later in creative writing we took a walk through the neighborhoods that encompass the school. The teacher said that every neighborhood has it's own stories, histories and culture and she wanted us to write about them. Since this one was nearby it was decided we would write about it. H. Park is an interesting place to live; it has a lot of the cities older architecture, some going back to the 1800s. They look nice when renovated, but only a few houses like this exist. Most are extremely run down low-income places. My teacher lives here, of course. With a teacher's salary I didn't expect her to be one of my neighbors in the west hills or anything. We stopped at a nice quaint cafe, and a church were the old man who was clutching a Reader's Digest was concerned about letting a mob of kids inside. When he finally let us in some students said they wanted to steal the candy that for sale for the church and I told them that it was okay, because Christianity was all about atonement and you could do whatever you wanted so long as you apologized later. Luckily upon leaving the church I was not stuck by lightening. We also visited a nice old Bed & Breakfast that the lady who lived there alone said was English gothic tutor style. Not sure what this means, but the place was old. The rooms were really plush; they all had those big beds with the posts. I asked Gillian if she wanted to rent a room here one night for sex and she said no. Once she hopped up on one of the beds she grinned and she was reconsidering my offer. I know she was joking but I liked the idea. Someone asked if the keeper of the bed and breakfast had ever seen any ghost there and she said no but some guest had reported sightings of them. She was very strange, probably the result of living in a Clue-like mansion all alone. She told us that she believed God blessed the Bed and Breakfast and she was waiting for God to send her a husband, and if there were any ghosts who lived there; they were probably benevolent and she hoped to meet Him (the first owner ft he place). Weirdy said she was only interested in getting into His pants (do ghost wear pants?). In the old library Dean found Dinotopia among the dusty old volumes, which seemed like an anachronism, but so did the satellite dish on top of the tattered farm-like house we passed earlier. Weirdy said that he like the statue of the naked lady on the lawn and someone said she was fat. After that there was a conversation of how in the past fat women were considered attractive because it symbolized wealth. We stopped to see our Teacher’s home and the town's oldest tree on the way home. The lawns were all green and the flowers were all in bloom. The tree looked as if it was the only thing dead in the area. Closer inspection revealed some tiny pathetic looking buds on the end of a decaying tree branch. The trunk had big bulges in it that looked like tumors. It would have been funny if someone had stapled a garage sale sign to the trunk. Some of the trees and telephone poles around here look as if they've had a million things posted on them. There are layer upon layers of tape, nails and staples.
We went back to school and I saw some reporters. One of them was carrying some camera equipment the other a woman in front was trying to suppress a grin. She was walking quickly as if she was on the West Wing, apparently excited about getting a good story. The neighborhood seemed so peaceful while we were there. It was difficult to believe that there was so much violence. The reporter was going to be upset, nothing happened.
SAY THIS:
Ki ki la coquette aimait beaucoup
Coco le concasseur de cacao.
Kiki la coquette avait envie d;un
Caraco kaki a col de caracu.l
| Tired of being underappreciated and manipulated by powerful "others," you fight back. Though possesssing a cold, violent outside, you have a soft, scentimental inside. You love your partner, you cherish family heirlooms, and you want nothing more than to be geniunely happy -- but you don't mind having to kill a couple of nimrods who happen to clutter your path. Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz. |
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