sitting across from my impending future

another reason to run, run, run far away from clark st:

She is a woman who looks weathered, her freckles have multiplied into large dark brown spots we call mega freckles, and she's got the freckles everywhere, and that is not all.

the wrinkles. the teeth. the hair. the body. the saggy skin under her arms. the pull on her earlobes from her earrrings. all of it is one big disgusting mess. and she thinks she is gorgeous. and if I continue to be a lazy slob, I will most certainly resemble her.

Except for the words coming out of her mouth, you would think she was sixty years old. I have no idea how old she actually is, but the age she purports to be, the age she pretends to be is my age. She is mentally stuck somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, but she is deluded. Seriously, the most delusional person I have ever spoken with.

Sitting there, her and I, in a place neither of us belongs, we looked like tourists, obtuse tourists, who had ambled into a restaurant merely based on the review in our guide book, and what's worse is that no one said what I'm sure was on their minds, that we looked like a mother and daughter out on the town, that we did and did not match at the same moment, that we did not belong there.

I was about as uncomfortable in my own skin as I was in high school, an itch arose in random places, my nose was running, I was anxious, could not sit still,

could not even stay for her offer of free drinks, that's how damn uncomfortable I was.

my hasty exit was awkward, and uncertain, and odd. but better that than sit with her til darkness crept into our eyes and my tongue loosened and said all the the things no one else ever says but that I always seem to.