Another Andre, a better one
in A beautiful revolution:
'Stuff in the air at 1 a.m.'
«Met a girl I used to know. Have a drink. Stuff in the air. Ask about her current fortune. She shakes her head. I light a cigarette and remember the past. Passionate. Car crash. Hanging on for both our lives. How about you, she asks. I shake my head. Lonely, she sighs, licking her pink glistening lips with the tip of her tongue. I nod. Stuff in the air.
I know what she's thinking. But it wouldn't work. She likes bastards. I wouldn't stand a chance. Broken in two. Torn to pieces. Sip my drink. Contemplate sleeping around. Ignoring her needs. Treat em mean. Pretend I don't give a fuck. Spend the day impressing mates. Ignore the phone calls. I know how to do it. I just don't like the rules. She licks her lips once more. I smile. She smiles. Stuff in the air.
I watch her reminisce. I gave her stuff. Stuff the bastards could never give. I made her feel. Really feel. I noticed the tiniest things about her. I made her question the reason she sleeps with six-foot shaven headed ice blocks that leave her crying on the floor. She smiles at me. I smile at her. Stuff in the air. Fucking hell.
Time to go. Just one more, she asks. Still playing with the possible maybes. I nod. Life. Politics. Teenage nightmares laying naked on the table. She is amazing. Fucking amazing. If only she knew. But she doesn't know. That's why she likes bastards. Treat em mean. Torn to pieces. Playing with fire. Stuff in the air. She smiles at me. I hold back the tears. Time to go. Time to go. »
'Stuff in the air at 1 a.m.'
«Met a girl I used to know. Have a drink. Stuff in the air. Ask about her current fortune. She shakes her head. I light a cigarette and remember the past. Passionate. Car crash. Hanging on for both our lives. How about you, she asks. I shake my head. Lonely, she sighs, licking her pink glistening lips with the tip of her tongue. I nod. Stuff in the air.
I know what she's thinking. But it wouldn't work. She likes bastards. I wouldn't stand a chance. Broken in two. Torn to pieces. Sip my drink. Contemplate sleeping around. Ignoring her needs. Treat em mean. Pretend I don't give a fuck. Spend the day impressing mates. Ignore the phone calls. I know how to do it. I just don't like the rules. She licks her lips once more. I smile. She smiles. Stuff in the air.
I watch her reminisce. I gave her stuff. Stuff the bastards could never give. I made her feel. Really feel. I noticed the tiniest things about her. I made her question the reason she sleeps with six-foot shaven headed ice blocks that leave her crying on the floor. She smiles at me. I smile at her. Stuff in the air. Fucking hell.
Time to go. Just one more, she asks. Still playing with the possible maybes. I nod. Life. Politics. Teenage nightmares laying naked on the table. She is amazing. Fucking amazing. If only she knew. But she doesn't know. That's why she likes bastards. Treat em mean. Torn to pieces. Playing with fire. Stuff in the air. She smiles at me. I hold back the tears. Time to go. Time to go. »
posted by André at
2/17/2007
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