Monday, June 3, 2013


Seen at the Fullerton Station at about 8:30 a.m.

The remnants of Julia’s feather boa are still caught in the escalator, the only relic left from Saturday night. The artificial pink is even more garish in the morning light.

Julia is not garish.

Julia studies hard. Julia is soft-spoken. Julia doesn’t shave her legs for days at a time, even in the summer. Julia has a sick mother at home. Julia stares at her feet while she walks, pointing her toes slightly outwards.

Julia surprised her roommate by agreeing to come to the party; at this point the invitations were just for show, just to be polite. Julia had never accepted before. She surprised her roommate even more by dressing up for the circus theme. A sparkly leotard, ballet shoes, the aforementioned feather boa.

“Wow. You look great, Julia.”

“Thanks. I’m a tightrope walker.”

Maybe it was the positive declaration “I am,” instead of the more appropriate “I’m dressed as” or “I’m pretending to be,” but our tightrope walker didn’t make it to the party that night. When the escalator ripped her boa apart and her roommate laughed, Julia ran home, pale and shaking.

Sometimes, when we try to ignore who we are, the universe shoves us back in our place.

I had a nice weekend. Went to a turtle-racing bar (exactly what it sounds like), saw the Alkaline Trio in Milwaukee (my ears are still ringing), and had the world's most absurd movie double feature on Sunday (Blade Runner and Pocahontas). Today I am very antsy. I just want to move around. I really wish I had a standing desk. 


  1. Whoa.

    I really like this. I also really dislike it, too. In a good way.


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