Post by Jack of Blades on Jul 26, 2006 16:06:26 GMT -5
I detest calling it 'Gellato.' This mixture of freezing cold sugar and flavourings that I once enjoyed was not 'Gellato.' Gellato was an Italian pudding that was processed in a certain fashion and contained no cream. What I was pretending to enjoy had cream. It was generic ice cream but because 'Gellato' had a more pleasant series of phonemes, it entered the general parlance to encompass all kinds of frozen treats. But despite my protests, she wanted one so I obliged. I didn't bother to explain my irritation of the matter. I just purchased the dessert, smiled and tried to enjoy the sugary treat as opposed to going over semantics.
This was our fourth date. The previous had taken the structure of movie, dinner (with discussion of the film moving onto a retelling of our lives) and kissing good night at the 10-inch gap made from wall that separated our houses. This attempt was no different up to this point. I had sat through a supposed blockbuster with more holes in its plot than a sieve before sitting over a supposed gourmet meal that managed to seap blood from under-cooking despite not ordering any meat. We were walking down the street, arm-in-arm, noting how the birds are singing in our presence and other such cliched material that happens on a date. She noticed the moon in all its glory; I noticed the prostitute standing on a street corner adjusting her stockings by her crotch.
She was talking about her time at college and how she'd like to return if such a moment ever became possible. Two months previous, I would have taken great pleasure in setting fire to her alma mater after paying for three years of tuition fees in full, just out of spite. But I indulged her. Not so I can keep up this charade of social interaction, but because her dreams, however usual they may be, and her normal way of communication captivated me. It was odd. Tolerating a conversation filled with mediocre comparisons and devoid of dramaticism. Not wanting to break someone's nose for adding the comment 'but you know...whatever' to an account of a childhood mishap.
She moved in front of me and gave me her librarian-like stare from the comfort of her glasses and moistened her lips as if to further the temptation of me ravaging her in the street. It looked like she had cold lips.
"So Mr Nolan, will it end with a kiss good night or coffee and pancakes when we wake up?"
She'd obviously plucked up the courage to ask me that. She was not the kind of woman to be so blunt and had difficulty handling that clumsy line.
"Depends whether we both wake up in the morning."
Somewhat unnerved by the response, she lets out a smile using her bottom lip only before resting her palms on my chest.
"Well, you know how we saw a movie today?"
"I don't refer to that as movie. I consider that a two-hundred million dollar lobotomy."
"Well, ok. But you know how movies have trailers to get you to want to see the movie in it's entirety?"
"Sure."
"Well, maybe I should give you a trailer before the show begins."
She raised her head up to engage her lips with mine. I physically move backwards shuddering at the poor-quality of her pick-up lines. Brushing the hair out of her face, I give her the benefit of the doubt, lower my bag, and press my lips with hers. The taste of strawberry lip-gloss did not distract me from the fact that my backpack was unprotected on the floor in a place known affectionately as 'Hooker Corner' by its denizens. Having to co-ordinate my stapling had caused me to be late for our redevouz causing me to take the bag of groceries with me hidden in a cheap rucksack. At the very least, the WCF magazine I purchased had given me something to do while the cartoon dog explained to his feline stalwart that the 'only ship that wouldn't sink was Friend-ship.' Of course, the attendant had failed to realise that the WCF magazine I asked for was one that specialised in wrestling and not 'Whips-Chain Fetish.' Either way, I enjoyed the design of pieces of leather on some of the contraptions featured.
When I had been bored at the cinema previously, I would take a trip to the projector and switch reels so Pixar's latest comedy became Tarantino's newest attempt at Blaxpoitation. I suddenly realised that this kiss had been going on too long and that any embrace that allowed me to reminise past visits to theatres should be discontinued as soon as possible. She seemed to be enjoying my simple rotations of tongue tongue regardless of my lack of interest. The only human being I can stand without having a utilitarian need for and I can't interact with her the way I want. The clown alter-ego took offence to a girl defying his concept of existence, how would it react to the only person who it found to show a degree of humanity? And that is why, like any hero, I must sacrifice romance for safety.
And yet, if I were a hero, I would have surely noticed her handbag being gripped and twisted away from her as a passing criminal took an active appreciation. She screamed as the handbag bit into her shoulder, I fell out of the kiss and ran after the handbag. He was faster than me no doubt, but failed to notice the lamp-post in front of him, forcing his skull straight into the metal pole. I threw myself at his crumbled body locking a body scissors and forcing fist into fist into his dirtied face. A boy of fifteen suffered numerous indignities by the former Television champion. All for a lipstick and twelve dollars. He screamed at the Kimura. He tried to escape as I spat in his eye. He pleaded as I laughed and licked at his face. He fell unconscious as I drove his skull into the pavement. I rose to shocked faces and tutting bystanders. Criminality had met crazyness.
She came to me. I told her to move away. She tried to grab my arm as if to calm me. I run off into the night like any loonie would after escaping the asylum. Shocked at what she sees, she picks up my bag causing 'Whips-Chain Fetish' magazine to career onto the blood-speckled pathway. She raised it to her glasses so she could read the print. I unlocked the appartment door and told Jake not to tell her where I was knowing she'd make an appearance.
Criminality could, but I cannot let compassion meet crazyness knowing full well that they could mix and breed. Jake approaches me with a bowl.
"Learnt this off a few chicas, when they get pissed at their sex partner, they have gellato, want some?"
Strawberry ice-cream, my favourite.
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[glow=red,2,300]Your neighbour...[/glow]
