non conversations with neighbors
newkirk plaza, sunday, 12:05 am:
cosby sweater: excuse me, can i just say? you look like you’re dealing with some shit and i hope you get through it, but i just wanted to tell you how beautiful you are.
me: silent stare, water bottle to my mouth.
cosby sweater: i’m sorry, i just wanted to tell you. oh! (throws arms in the air) and god bless america! right?!
foster ave & e 17th st, sunday, 1:20 pm:
bodega man: blanca, muy blanca.
me: furrow brow.
c-town, monday, 7:00 pm:
cashier: cash only.
me: glare. (i did attempt to say ‘maybe you should’ve fucking told me that before i took everything out of my fucking basket’ but what came out was laryngitis squeaks and whispers and rushes of air.)
things.
