Cologne

The week of rough mornings is batting a thousand. The dirty clothing, which I thew on this morning after finding out with a certain jolt that I hadn't started the dryer the previous night, smelled like old cologne. To its credit, it had been sprayed with cologne weeks ago, much to my professional discredit. I can still smell it on me now, early Friday morning. It was a welcome change. It made me feel like a man, instead of just a kid. That's a hard concept to wrap my brain around, my being a man, though I know it to be all too true.

Summer is here for a day or so. Today was meant for just sitting in the heat and sweating after the fifty degree weather, and I was very happy to oblige. After bumming around in my nice clothing, some friends and I went to that new pizza place, barbecue chicken this time. If you're in the area, I implore you to go - one slice, one soda, one ice cream: three dollars. It's the best in town, and I'd hate to see it go now that I've conversed with the kindly owner.

Please be advised: jumping in freezing water because you were hot an hour or so prior isn't a good idea. The creek was a sort of hazel green. When I remember it now, its up past the shore, swollen with rain. It asks me nicely to splash, then it calls me mean names. It pushes me in. That is how the story will be told. I've learned as of late that the most refreshing things are foolhardy at times.

Borders for mom. I swear, the woman buys books to make herself cry. I bought a Creative Non-Fiction and Short Story periodicals for myself, along with another collection of what Garrison Keillor calls "Good Poems." The usual diner was after borders. Now, bed.

Regards,

Caleb

P.S. fifth column - a group of insurgents, traitors, or spies

Poor Kneecap

Riding a bike, you often take motion for granted. Even when you ball your hands, and squeeze into a stop, it is for the purpose of moving in the future. Wobble, slip, crash, pavement, slide. Balance can be as hard as blacktop. Luckily, I have always wanted a pair of grungy tan pants with holes and scuffed up bits. It would have been nice if such things were of my own volition. I might've worn a helmet.

With a reminiscent clack, (I say reminiscent, because "clack" is the sound my gears make now.) the cue ball hits the racked bright yellow one. With the semi-recent ban on smoking indoors, pool halls aren't like they are in the movies. I've done my time at our hall of preference, and am a little disappointed that no one has smashed their bottle and come at me with it. There isn't a trough in the boys' bathroom. I reckon my imagination will have to be enough.

Our place is furnished with pew benches. Some like to joke that god is on their side when they make a great shot, or at least I like to think that they do. Then, I think a lot of things, it would seem, that aren't real. I reckon my imagination is tricky like that. I can have a brawl in my head for my own amusement so long as I'll let myself be lead on. If that is the trade off, I don't mind.

After the pool hall is the other diner again. This time I notice the pictures of trains on the wall, and smile softly to myself. Some friends are finally home from school, and they dine with us. I hate how you can never find the jelly that you want. Then, maybe that's for show, a quirk for my companions to remember me by some day. I'm not scared of being forgotten, just human. The trains didn't sing tonight, but that's all right. They've stopped for the purpose of moving in the future, I hope.

Regards,

Caleb

P.S. bats in the belfry - eccentric, insane

P.P.S The last two days these posts have come the night after the day in which they occurred. I plan on righting this as soon as I get into a groove with this stuff. Pictures, too, shall be at the end of every post, having been taken, just not uploaded. This too will be righted.