Late Afternoon
15 July 2002 15:14![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
denThe setting sun found a gap between the two buildings and shot a beam directly through the grimy window into the room. It shone fully on my face, dragging me out of a deep sleep. I woke but didn't open my eyes. The sun would make them ach despite the filter-effect caused by years of dirt on the glass. I pushed my right arm from under the covers, groped around the floor beside the bed until I felt a cardboard packet with the flip-top.
The heel of my hand rested on the packet to steady it while I used my fingers to open the top and withdraw one long, white cylinder. At the same time I groped with my left hand on the bedside table until I found a lighter, popped the cigarette between my lips and lit it in one fluid, well practised move. I breathed in deeply, and...
"PUGH! Shit! What th..." a fit of coughing choked off my words. I sat up and stared teary-eyed at the vile thing in my hand, then dropped it into a glass of water on the bedside table. The cigarette expanded in the liquid.
I found the packet and examined it. I vaguely remembered buying them on the way home from the pub last night, and the curious face behind the counter of the shop but everything else was a blur.
The brand was unfamilliar. "They must be French,"I thought. "I've never even heard of 'Libra.'" I found my trusty pack of B&H Gold and lit one, then went to the wardrobe. Tonight would be cold so I a t-shirt and a wooley jumper.
From the next drawer I picked out my "special" jeans. They consisted of two tubes of denim, each about 15 inches long. I pulled them on, tied the tops tightly with gaffer-tape just below the knee, then stamped my feet a few times to make sure they'd stay up.
I opened the wardrobe and stood in thought for several minutes, looking at the fifteen almost identical plastic macintoshes hanging there. Finally I selected one but it was wrong, so I put it back and selected another, then pulled the first one out. It was a charcoal-grey. The other was a deep green.
"Lessee... I think I'll go to the business district tonight. Yeah! Better be formal." I put on the grey mac, and left the flat.
I'd hardly walked 100 metres before I bumped into my favourite pollice officer: a tall, athletic brunette who looked great in Uniform.
"Oh! Hello Constable Boodie!"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Whitton. You're looking formal, so I hope you aren't planning on going to the center of town tonight." She continued walking.
I twitched on the spot for a second, trying to fight The Urge. Finally I spun and shouted, "Hey Denise! What do you think of THIS?" and flung my coat open.
Constable Boodie turned. "It's very cold tonight, Den. You really should wait until it's warmer."
I locked myself in my room, and tried to work out why the strange cigarettes expanded like that when I dropped them in water.
The heel of my hand rested on the packet to steady it while I used my fingers to open the top and withdraw one long, white cylinder. At the same time I groped with my left hand on the bedside table until I found a lighter, popped the cigarette between my lips and lit it in one fluid, well practised move. I breathed in deeply, and...
"PUGH! Shit! What th..." a fit of coughing choked off my words. I sat up and stared teary-eyed at the vile thing in my hand, then dropped it into a glass of water on the bedside table. The cigarette expanded in the liquid.
I found the packet and examined it. I vaguely remembered buying them on the way home from the pub last night, and the curious face behind the counter of the shop but everything else was a blur.
The brand was unfamilliar. "They must be French,"I thought. "I've never even heard of 'Libra.'" I found my trusty pack of B&H Gold and lit one, then went to the wardrobe. Tonight would be cold so I a t-shirt and a wooley jumper.
From the next drawer I picked out my "special" jeans. They consisted of two tubes of denim, each about 15 inches long. I pulled them on, tied the tops tightly with gaffer-tape just below the knee, then stamped my feet a few times to make sure they'd stay up.
I opened the wardrobe and stood in thought for several minutes, looking at the fifteen almost identical plastic macintoshes hanging there. Finally I selected one but it was wrong, so I put it back and selected another, then pulled the first one out. It was a charcoal-grey. The other was a deep green.
"Lessee... I think I'll go to the business district tonight. Yeah! Better be formal." I put on the grey mac, and left the flat.
I'd hardly walked 100 metres before I bumped into my favourite pollice officer: a tall, athletic brunette who looked great in Uniform.
"Oh! Hello Constable Boodie!"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Whitton. You're looking formal, so I hope you aren't planning on going to the center of town tonight." She continued walking.
I twitched on the spot for a second, trying to fight The Urge. Finally I spun and shouted, "Hey Denise! What do you think of THIS?" and flung my coat open.
Constable Boodie turned. "It's very cold tonight, Den. You really should wait until it's warmer."
I locked myself in my room, and tried to work out why the strange cigarettes expanded like that when I dropped them in water.
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Is this a test?
Date: 14 Jul 2002 22:24 (UTC)Re: Is this a test?
Date: 14 Jul 2002 22:32 (UTC)Woke up. Did stuff. Went to bed.
Re: Is this a test?
Date: 14 Jul 2002 22:42 (UTC)Ah, it all sounds pretty good to me. You woke up -- some people don't even get that far. You did stuff -- hey some people go a whole day without doing anything productive. You went to bed -- again, some people don't get there either.
So, actually, that isn't so bad.
I am curious as to "what stuff" you did, even if it's somewhat mundane. Maybe it's just me, but I could (hearing distant gasps across the internet) actually _use_ a little mundanity lately. My life has gotten just *too weird*.
dude....
Date: 15 Jul 2002 00:21 (UTC)The lunatic is on the grass
Date: 15 Jul 2002 06:35 (UTC)Someone sold you a hygiene product in a cigarette package? (I'll leave the rest to the sick imaginations of your other journal fans).
Around here 15 plastic macintoshes makes you king of the homeless.
The sun woke me at 5 :30 a.m again this morning. I need to move the futon and get something to block the sun. These curatins let in too much light:D.
no subject
Date: 15 Jul 2002 07:20 (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Jul 2002 07:25 (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Jul 2002 07:43 (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Jul 2002 07:46 (UTC)So....
Date: 15 Jul 2002 08:20 (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Jul 2002 13:30 (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Jul 2002 13:35 (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Jul 2002 23:43 (UTC)Boodie described the garments in question to me. I'll save him the embarrassment of repeating the description here.
no subject
Date: 16 Jul 2002 00:36 (UTC)LOL
Date: 16 Jul 2002 06:37 (UTC)LOL
I remember when you first posted that in penpal, you had to explain it all to more than several people who "JUST DIDN'T GET IT"
*hugs*
And I have NO idea what Baxil is talking about, at all