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2001-03-02 - too late - tim taylor and diet pepsi

on my left i see a grocery store where i was once carded while buying bottled root beer. and that house was once inhabited by a guy i used to know. used to have parties there often. and this road. i have driven down it a hundred times. once just an hour before tim taylor died on it.

in the supermart the man looking at comic books sent chills up and down my spine. the bags beneath his eyes. the desperation in having someone to talk to. i see those types sometimes. i think it must be foreshadowing for my future. i sometimes find myself with the feeling that these people are ghosts. as if i am the only person who can see them. and maybe even if they are real they are still ghosts. standing in the magazine aisle of a large everything store browsing comic books. waiting for someone to talk to. forgotten by their friends, family, acquaintances -- everyone. and how he haunts the aisles of department stores waiting for people to see him, waiting to be talked to. the comic book aisle is a great place for that. we are the people who can see beneth the fabric of what is normal.

and when we left: "we're getting old," i said. you asked why. and all i could think of was our lack of anything to do. like there was no life compelling us to go wreak havoc on our community. we are getting tired. and you know that as well as i do. you kick that diet pepsi bottle so that it hits a car and bounces back to us. you kick it again. i watch it spin across the parking lot -- bottom, cap, bottom, cap, bottom cap bottomcap bottomcap -- creating circles across the lot. like a figure skater or an elaborate fourth of july fire cracker. i think about how poetic a symbol this moment is. and then i light up a cigarette and we drive off.

and you. i really want to see you this weekend. i find myself making wishes for your well being whenever i see a star fall, whenever there are four ones and a colon across my digital clock face. i really love you. our friendship is an ocean. i dont know if i can see you this weekend. i have been afraid of new things lately. new places, new people. but i know you need this. you need people here. so you go have fun. ill catch up with you someday.

and its warmer here than there.

its late and i am very tired.

i need a fucking cigarette.

only twelve more days.

ive gotta go.

its a blue letter.

xoxo

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