most of them are beautiful
i was walking down the street today. in the more bohemian part of town. this boy walked past me and caught my eye. he was a few years older than me, and possibly the most delightful punk rock boy i have ever seen. he was wearing a black, short sleeved, button down shirt. pinstriped dress pants and red chuck taylors. his left wrist was covered in plastic bracelets and bands. his right wrist had a scar going up it�s length, in the right direction to try and kill yourself, not meaningless slashes across the wrist like the girl who was behind him. his fingernails painted a bright purple. his hair was dyed black and hipster messy. magenta streaks and hairspray. his hair and face reminded me of skater jim greco and the picture of him stuck to my bedroom wall. post modern punk.
safely past me, he pulled his bag, once slung casually over one shoulder, to his front and took out a can of deodorant. he lifted his black shirt and sprayed under each arm. as i covered the ground he had just occupied, the smell got caught in my nostrils and made me sneeze.
in another life, one where i�m more confident, where i�m the person i want to be, i would�ve asked him to sit with me in a cafe and drink iced coffee while i learnt about him. what was his name? where did he live? where was he going? what music does he listen to? is he as reliant on technology as me? who are his friends? i�m dying to know.
this is the kind of boy i want. the kind of life i want. i�m over the boys life in the suburbs of south western sydney and country universities have to offer me. there�s a reason they call it sub-urban. i don�t want to play the 8 cinema multiplex/mcdonalds/2.3 kids and 2 cars in the garage game anymore.
i sat on the ground of platform 22 of central station and dreamt about a life i�ll never know as i waited for a train from a rail network full of chaos to take me back to my bland life.
2004-02-09 4:46 p.m.