Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.

it was a start

“So, here we are again.”

Tim sits back onto a brown leather couch, his jeans crumpling at the motion. A cup rests between his hands, slippery and filled with the remnants of a beverage. What’s left of the ice cracks, ever so softly. The sound of voices, conversation too loud for its own good, fills the otherwise stale air. It buzzes with life, for these few hours. One could consider this a party, of sorts. There is a bespectacled figure sitting less than two feet beside Tim; she ties her strikingly red hair effortlessly into a bun, holding it together with a clip procured from a slightly oversized purse. She turns to him. “You know, it’s not like I’ve been stalking you or anything.”

“You sure about that?” Tim takes a sip. It tastes icy, metallic, alcoholic. “I mean, you know everyone I know, we see each other every other hour, and all that good stuff.” He clears his throat. “So I’ll ask again, you sure about that?”

“Yep.” She nods as she says this. They are the sole figures on the couch, either pure happenstance or the cosmos at work. People pass in front of them every few minutes, each with their own idiosyncratic quirk; a beer-stained pair of shoes, an overabundance of perfume, the inexplicable odor of shame. Tim and the bespectacled figure are facing each other, ignoring their surroundings, now engrossed in an odd combination of small talk and casually flirtatious banter. One can hear the hooting of someone with too much to drink. It is an awkward silence, though neither of them are the awkward type.

“You should probably go home soon.” She finally says. It was something she always said.

“You should probably get to bed.” Tim replies. “You look tired.”

“I know.” She pauses. “But I won’t. You should get some sleep.” It was late, yet there was no sign of the festivities dying down. “I don’t sleep til five in the morning anyway, so I’m good.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Tim clears his throat, feeling the start of a cough. “First, though. I never did get your name.”

Her name is Rose, and that was the start of something.


One Comment on “it was a start”

  1. christine says:

    it kinda describes me.
    funny. :]

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