Friday, January 16

on the bus

Loud Guy Who Says Fuck a Lot: What's in the case?

Really Patient Guy: My knives.

It turns out that Really Patient Guy is a chef. After a while, I find the only available audio file on my computer, a copy of the Most Unwanted song. In line with the song's title, I don't actually want to listen to it right now, but I want desperately not to hear any more of LGWSFaL's cretinous, repetitively aggressive half-shouted diatribe about employment and the economy and the vast depths of his experience. If I am not careful, he will detect my barely-suppressed misanthropic rage and turn his attentions my direction. As it stands, I can only make the volume loud enough to cut out about two thirds of the conversation, but it's enough.

Headphones may be a great social corrosive, but sometimes I suspect they're the only thing preventing me from being involved in the kind of public confrontation that ends with assault charges.

at home

I listen to the mix CD she made for Christmas.

we collapse a lot of meaning into the word home

It's like the distance between gratis and libre. Between the places you've kept clothes for a while and the places you could find your way with just a hand on the wall at midnight during a moonless snowstorm blackout. Where you're going alone after the bar closes and where they'd scatter your ashes if you had any say in the matter.

I like to imagine that this means something.