...just like you, campy and eclectic.--Hawk
(I might like 'campy and eclectic' even better than 'overly arty', no offence to Judy Rousuck.)
Good morning, my Fluffy.
"Good morning, Mama. But it's not such a good morning for you, is it?
Why is that, my sweet?
"Because I looked out the window and saw that it was cold and grey and rainy, so I know your ankle must be hurting you."
And so it is. But when I'm hugging my Fluffy, it's ALWAYS a good morning.
She asks me to sit for her. She's seen me unleash my hair, compares me to a mermaid, to a masthead, little knowing how susceptible I am to marine metaphor. She compliments my stillness, the stillness that's filled my pockets more than once. Amazed by her pristine Irish delicacy, I wonder why she bothers with me, when a mirror's glance provides her the perfect artistic subject. Her hand, raised to freeze me in a pose and forgotten, floats softly on the smokey, hoppy air.
He has used the word 'radiant' which is curious and thrilling for several reasons.
"When I go to the bathroom at Edgar's, white guys will hit on you because they'll figure you should upgrade."
"Yep. And brothers will hit on you because they figure you go that way."
Probably the staff, but still.
"They'll hit on you just because."
So, okay, no drinking. I can't afford for you to go to the bathroom, apparently.
"Oh, I'll drink, all right."
Then I'll need a backup escort, and the two of you can pee in shifts.
"Yeah. That'll happen."
I tell Coco about a project I worked on having won an award. "Of course it did," she says firmly. "You worked on it."
"No, because ANOTHER project from this company, one I didn’t work on, also won an award. And a really nice review."
"Well, they only gave THAT project an award because they THOUGHT you worked on it."
Everyone should have a friend as loyal as Coco.
Hands off. She’s mine.