It's thunderstorming outside, creating ripples in the standing black puddles. It feels like you're breathing in wet, blue and green laundry in the middle of an extra hot drying cycle when you walk outside. It has come to my attention that clinging pink clothes and kinky, khaki-colored hair clash with sexy. I cared about Sexy once; but it left, and hasn't come back. I don't mind in blues anymore.
I bought silver snakeskin sandals, red lipstick, and a yellow raincoat. You know, one that Dick Tracy would have worn. Snakeskin and purple polka dots start to argue, but I grab my dotted patterned umbrella anyway. The Dick Tracy coat silences them, and my red lips smile.
I opened the back screen door, and made my way to the street to catch a taxi.
I gotta feeling that tonight's gonna be a good, good night.
2 comments:
I kind of really like this.
This is like poetry, man. You need to write music for that post.
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