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think nothing, think nothing, think nothing.
don't think about her breasts brushing my arm.
think about baseball.
think nothing.
don't think about how ugly her blouse is.
think about bicycles.
think nothing.
don't think about that growth on her neck.
think about porcupines.
think nothing.
don't think about if she has ever been a bad girl.
think about overpopulation.
think nothing.
don't think about punching her and running out the door.
think about different kinds of cheese.
due to the close proximity required to cut hair and the deafening silence between us, i was quite sure the stylist could easily read my mind. not only read my mind but dig deep into the files of my mind and know every thing about me. even know that i know she can read my mind, and it terrifies me.
a fear resulting in my mother doubling as my barber till 17 years of age.
of course, if i could have read the stylist's mind...
this kid is a dork... only 2 hours before mark picks me up in his camero... why is this kid sweating?... i wonder if anyone ate the last sprinkle donut... this kid needs more help than a hair cut... shit, i'm gonna be late for the neck doctor appointment.
Posted by griff at January 20, 2004 11:58 PM