Saturday, October 17, 2009


10:09 PM Posted by Patrick 3 comments
My mother's highschool classmates made for excellent people watching. In fact, they were almost as good for dissection as the two, pasty, mustachioed, pre-neolithic, and almost certainly un-bathed, baristas who ruined my espresso this morning. The little dears were walking around with their mouths hanging open and shoulders slouched terribly. I could only conclude that they never had mothers.

My mother's highscool comrades were of a more pleasant caste than the above mentioned paragons of the human race. But some of them clearly needed to quit bleaching their hair. The company was decent. The food was tasty. There was a dilapidated little playground and skate park in a grove of trees near the building where the rendezvous was held. And as I walked--you know that I was choreographing an emo music video--I was struck, figuratively (almost literally), by the slow rain of walnuts onto the black tire rubber that served as the ground beneath the dilapidated playground. Needless to say, It was a very short span of time before I was slinging walnut husks all over the place, practicing my very rusty baseball throw. There is something about the brooding solitude of manmade surroundings, long since fallen into decay, that gives rise to the child in me. Oh, the railraod tracks back behind everything definitely were a big part of the atmosphere too.

Then I came home and worked like a maniac. My profs gave me a lot of busywork this weekend.

Now I take time for pleasure.


  1. Solitude, schmolitude. I was beaning you with unripe walnuts. How could you not act like a child?

  2. Your aim was so bad that I might well have been alone.