Thursday, January 28th, 2010.
10:03 AM. Annie R. Mitchell Library.
There's a kid one table away from me - straight out of a movie, I swear.
He's a tough looking scene kid with some of the biggest gauges I've ever seen in person.
(His gauges were about this big... No exaggeration.)
He's also wearing a purple Quicksilver shirt and a tribal necklace... Cool points up 10%.
His name is Josh.
(I know this because he was in my Foods and Nutrition class last semester. For only a day and a half.)
He's skinny and has big lips and dark, dark brown hair that sort of sticks up in the front. He's rocking a DGR look. (Didn't Get Ready)
There's an empty table between us. Then there's me - A knee-length, gray Vera Wang dress with Xhilaration tights, black Candie boots and choppy hair. He eyes the Alice Glass picture on my binder that a ripped out of my SPIN magazine... but for the most part, he stays focused on whatever he's writing.
Writing. We're both writing.
But e doesn't know I'm writing about him... Does that mean he could be writing about me? Right now, as I write about him?
Is this some kind of 'meet cute' where we lock eyes, packed with silent understanding, and then continue to write about each other?
Oh, the tangled webs we weave.
I wonder if I can throw this pen through his gauge....
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