Adam's Apple

And I know I said I needed some time alone 
And I know I never seem to pick up the phone 
And though you will see me with someone else 
You were always the one

-The Cribs, You Were Always The One (The Cribs, 2004)

-Start scene-

He was always my best friend, my brotha, my hommie, mi ese, but we were never counterparts. A relationship was his life’s longing for the past few years. The search began from 24 hours discotheque (usually past 3 am), overcrowded bars (and an open bottle of tequila the perfect one night rape aphrodisiac), hip posh lounges (with fancy fashion line ensemble), and cool eclectic cafes (while sitting around for a full 6 hours). 

170 cm
65 kilos

and

a slight defect (wide satellite shaped ears, that is)

I told him not sit too close.
I said not to look in her eye motionlessly.
I warned him to avoid all touchy* physical contact.
I even stepped on his shoes when they started to talk about the virtues of true companionship.

black hair
pencil line eyebrows

and

a gigantic defect (stubbornness, in this case)  

They sat side by side. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt; he was wearing a slim fit leather jacket. He made the initial move, closing down the gaps between chairs, rubbing her jeans with his skinny khakis. In shock and awe, I tried to peek what was happening under the table. If her jeans were tits, then they would be definitely flashing, teasing the unprepared khakis for this jolting move. Her hand started to tingle. She had to put her hand on his arm for the sake of more attention. My bastard friend tried to look cool and cocky, as his basic trait would surface. He tilted his head towards her, inches to her face, which made my prone tendency to heart attacks something you could bet on. Then he made a subtle turn in the direction of her ear, letting me to gasp some air as if I was drowning. 

She smiled.
Not a happy smirk.
Not a polite lip muscle.
Not even a genuine laugh.

It wasn’t a hint, certainly not a friendly gesture. It was the key to the doors of open barriers and continuing alleys of possibilities. Flirtatious submission may not be the right word. But it was what came to mind first.

I made eye contact with the idiot in charge, a man must be guided by logic and natural will, not by in the moment feelings and uncontested fate. He politely asked her to be excused, I thought to myself why doesn’t he start making print ads on his real intention, rather than showing blunt behavior with the crowd still around. 

“She’s messing around with you.”
“So?”
“DON’T!!”
“Don’t make a blunder out of it?”
“DON’T PLAY WITH FIRE”
“Yeah, play with fire then get burnt. I’m playing with something else, this is a completely different creature. It’s like I’m a Russian genius scientist playing catch with uranium in order to solve matters as world peace. A big risk, mankind would greatly benefit from.”
“Have you been taking prescription drugs?”
“Yeah, just some anti-depressant but without the doctor orders.”
“Then preach to the fucking sidewalk!!”

*touchy:  (1.) slowly caressing one’s inner arm, female                  

                   (2.) rubbing one’s hand in a purposed motion on one’s back, male 

-end of scene-

(next season)  

Debauchery

I’m in need of something raw. A piece of magnet pertaining to the unpolluted flesh eating animal who is blind to the vague lines between tame and wild. My own table shaped wax, solely mine to animate, to destroy, then bury the hatchet. No questions ask, just silent mediums of disagreement breaking the exercised fury beyond doubt. 

Lend a hand anybody?