train was on time this morning. bus was on time this morning. it stopped at the wiltern for a little too long if you ask me. whatever.
on the train a super hot asian woman in a chanel suit with legs unpantyhosed spread just a little to wide with mouth open asleep clutching her coach ripoff purse had all the men looking at her.
i read slaughterhouse five cuz i love kv and even though my memory is bad all i needed to do was look at her once and all the details of this woman were etched in my head like a chisel to granite.
dark hair dark roots. just a strand of gray here and there. perfectly plucked eyebrows. nice job on the lipstick. very pale, almost geisha skin, natural. beige suit with white trim, no neglige to ruin things, beige shoes, everything matching, yellowing teeth, hint of a tounge trying to slide through the teeth. far too attractive for the morning commute filled with security guards heading west to the beach side hotels.
warm, finally in hell-a. seems like we got ripped out of our spring and our early spring, still i wore a flannel for the ride but was pleased when the woman next to me cracked open the window as we sped down wilshire.
she saw that i was reading but still she wanted to talk. she asked me if i saw survivor. i said yes. she asked if i liked it. i said yes and rang the bell. it wasnt my stop but it was obviously time to get off.
yesterday while i was watching the lakers and folding my clothes at the laundry a different woman asked me what the score was.
i wanted to say, i do not talk to strangers during the laker game or during my laundry. i said the game was over.
she asked what inning the game was in. shit you not. i pretended that i didnt know english.
que?
didnt matter. she told me that when she first moved out here from new york that she went to a dodger game and they won.
women care about the score of the game. and about how when they went to a game a certain team won.
men, we just care that we went. that we had some beers with some friends. that we saw some big fake titted woman.
fuck the score.
i ignored her and folded my leopard skin boxers.
sometimes i get a ride to the laundry mat. sometimes karisa lets me come over to her house and do it there. lately ive just taken my granny cart which fits my hamper perfect and place a horizontal hamper ontop of that, and then i shove more clothes in two pillowcases and pull that shit down the street a few blocks to Coin Laundry.
it may look precarious to a nosy woman who doesnt know that the dodgers play baseball the lakers play basketball and i couldnt care less about her or her stories, but for me it works.
she said, you should remember to get bungy cords next time.
i wanted to step on her toe. real hard. smoosh it.
got out of there. nothing better than clean laundry all done by four pm and the lakers tying up a series.
except coming home to you.
and smelling potato pancakes as snacks frying up just for me.