Your Turn To Cry
Your beauty will fade
Then what are you left with
Some sad stories,
and the dress you slept in
You say no one loves you,
but you've never given me the chance
Sleep with whomever gives you a passing glance
Being lonesome isn't an excuse
Used us all anyway,
so whats the use
You said you tried but failed
Your boat is sinking,
and you tossed your pail
Why didn't I learn?
For years I've been burned
So let the tears come,
now it's your turn
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Short North Observation
***Note: This will be a series of short segments I'm going to start doing on a regular basis to keep the blog flowing, enjoy.
It was our first week in the new apartment. The only furniture we had at the time were two couches, a dinning room table and a few chairs; the rest of our stuff was still in boxes for the most part. In celebration of our new found emancipation (Tony, Shooter and I had all been living with our parents) we had a few friends over for brews.
Everything was uncharted and exciting. The promise of a new future on our own, post undergrad, produced a strange thrill that had us in high spirits. We drank and smoked copious amounts of Marijuana, had some laughs and order our first DP Dough from the Calzone shop downstairs. At one point our new neighbors came over and we exchanged tours of our digs. We didn't know it at the time, but we would become fast friends. The two of them were also recent college grads striking out on their own.
Our posse walked down the front steps to pick up the food when we noticed something interesting across the street in an alley between the laundry mat and the coffee shop. A young man and woman, obviously quite intoxicated, were making out and heavily petting one another. We laughed but wouldn't have thought much about it until things started heating up.
The man lifted up her dress and slide her underwear down to her ankles. The woman started fiddling with his pants. These two were definitely about to start fucking and they were totally oblivious to their growing audience (the neighbors joined us) hid conspicuously behind our front door. The best part was how awful the spot was they choose to get it on. A busy section of High Street, in a well lit alley. Basically begging to get caught by passersby or worse, the police. A hard dick has no conscious.
Just then one of the employees of the 24-hour laundry mat came out and broke it up. Startled, they ended their embrace. He fixed his belt and buttoned his pants. The woman shot up, her underwear nearly tripping her as she took her first step. Before they could scamper off, we burst through the front door applauding and cheering loudly. I could see her face reddening from across the way. He took a bow and they quickly made their way down the street; creatures of the night that we would forever refer to as the High Street Lovers.
-J.R.
It was our first week in the new apartment. The only furniture we had at the time were two couches, a dinning room table and a few chairs; the rest of our stuff was still in boxes for the most part. In celebration of our new found emancipation (Tony, Shooter and I had all been living with our parents) we had a few friends over for brews.
Everything was uncharted and exciting. The promise of a new future on our own, post undergrad, produced a strange thrill that had us in high spirits. We drank and smoked copious amounts of Marijuana, had some laughs and order our first DP Dough from the Calzone shop downstairs. At one point our new neighbors came over and we exchanged tours of our digs. We didn't know it at the time, but we would become fast friends. The two of them were also recent college grads striking out on their own.
Our posse walked down the front steps to pick up the food when we noticed something interesting across the street in an alley between the laundry mat and the coffee shop. A young man and woman, obviously quite intoxicated, were making out and heavily petting one another. We laughed but wouldn't have thought much about it until things started heating up.
The man lifted up her dress and slide her underwear down to her ankles. The woman started fiddling with his pants. These two were definitely about to start fucking and they were totally oblivious to their growing audience (the neighbors joined us) hid conspicuously behind our front door. The best part was how awful the spot was they choose to get it on. A busy section of High Street, in a well lit alley. Basically begging to get caught by passersby or worse, the police. A hard dick has no conscious.
Just then one of the employees of the 24-hour laundry mat came out and broke it up. Startled, they ended their embrace. He fixed his belt and buttoned his pants. The woman shot up, her underwear nearly tripping her as she took her first step. Before they could scamper off, we burst through the front door applauding and cheering loudly. I could see her face reddening from across the way. He took a bow and they quickly made their way down the street; creatures of the night that we would forever refer to as the High Street Lovers.
-J.R.
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