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Two meetings
Jan. 13th, 2008 10:32 pmOn the Red Line tonight, a skinny goth-punk chick said she liked my shoes (the black suede Chucks). She had a lip ring, and said she'd bought a pair just like mine for a gift. "Where'd you find them?" I asked. "Near my mom's house," she said. When she put her headphones back on after our little Converse-ation (sorry), she scratched and tapped at her thigh in a complicated, percussive rhythm.
In Harvard Square, a panhandler yelled after me, "Fuckin' hippie!" The black woman walking in front of me said, "He's not gonna get much change tonight," which I had to agree with. When I passed him again a few minutes later, he stared up at me from his seat on the brick walk and enunciated, clearly and conversationally, "I want to kill you."
In Harvard Square, a panhandler yelled after me, "Fuckin' hippie!" The black woman walking in front of me said, "He's not gonna get much change tonight," which I had to agree with. When I passed him again a few minutes later, he stared up at me from his seat on the brick walk and enunciated, clearly and conversationally, "I want to kill you."
