Wednesday, May 2, 2018

they don't know you like i know you



i saw an anorexic boy today. i knew him immediately. of course you know what i mean.

his face was moon-colored and his knees wider than his thighs, and he was walking into a burger place with his friends. that green greasy place on the corner of silver lake and sunset, you know it? the one with "no alcohol, no loitering" hand-painted on the back, which must've been meant for the bums. i've never seen anyone eat there. just the bums and their shopping carts, their trash bags, their paper-bag bottles.

i wanted to say to him, hey, i know. me too. i wanted to compare the diameters of our thighs.

but of course you can't. parallel planes, by definition, do not intersect. it's some fundamental law of this particular physics, it's part of this elegant dance. maybe you recognise each other, maybe you share a glance. there is a moment of electricity.

but it can never be, because who are we kidding? this is a lonely journey. there is nothing to say. hunger cannot be shared.

i wanted so much to call out through the void. beyond the initial parsing of truths, what would i say? we would merely embarrass ourselves.

luckily i was in my car and i was smoking, and the light had turned green.


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