815 Butterfly Street = Trois
815 Butterfly street.
As he walked up the stairs of his hard wood walled apartment, he could hear voices on the patio, laughter and liquor, on the ledge, you can see a hand: callused and veins crawling like moon lizards and a cigarette; American Spirit Menthol.
"Putain."
Laughter and liquor.
" As long as you keep sober," he recalled while signing that contract. He was just gonna go straight to his bedroom. He had gone to some meeting where people cry and are nice to each other and he found himself not so anxious after wards. It had also been a week since Joy decided to come down on him like a hawk with red talons scratching his left arm and neck.
"You said you loved me asshole!" She kept yelling as she tried to inflict as much to him vocally, physically and emotionally.
"Mon ami! Comsi," Justice beckoned to him from the screen door patio.
" Ça Va?"
"Bien," he replied half forcibly smiling.
" Ah, I'm being rude, you know Justo, oui?"
She was being coy, eyes aglaze like no one there, someone else inside, like a demon or a whore. Of course he knows the guy in the patio, the three of them have hung out the past 3 years, sneaking into buildings, listening to "Music for the Masses," and going to the rooftop looking down at the city until the Moon fell asleep.
"Pierre," a nod. they both smile at each other.
" Well, I should be going. It's getting late." It's 9:15pm.
"Fucking Liar," she blurted out like a hiccup.
"Justice, I have an early day tomorrow." She's right, he's lying. He stand up, flicks the menthol cigarette and gives her a kiss in the forehead but she in turn slides her head up to face until her Bombay Sapphire lips meets his nicotine breathe.
"Night Justo," he turns and as he walks away she starts yelling.
" I'm gonna fucking jump, I'm gonna jump."
Merde, he thought. He was having the best day and this! Really. Besides, if she does jump, she'll probably just break a few bones, it's just the second floor.
"Justice, chill." They make out. She calms down. He leaves.
Finally, he can get some sleep, or so he thought.
As he walked up the stairs of his hard wood walled apartment, he could hear voices on the patio, laughter and liquor, on the ledge, you can see a hand: callused and veins crawling like moon lizards and a cigarette; American Spirit Menthol.
"Putain."
Laughter and liquor.
" As long as you keep sober," he recalled while signing that contract. He was just gonna go straight to his bedroom. He had gone to some meeting where people cry and are nice to each other and he found himself not so anxious after wards. It had also been a week since Joy decided to come down on him like a hawk with red talons scratching his left arm and neck.
"You said you loved me asshole!" She kept yelling as she tried to inflict as much to him vocally, physically and emotionally.
"Mon ami! Comsi," Justice beckoned to him from the screen door patio.
" Ça Va?"
"Bien," he replied half forcibly smiling.
" Ah, I'm being rude, you know Justo, oui?"
She was being coy, eyes aglaze like no one there, someone else inside, like a demon or a whore. Of course he knows the guy in the patio, the three of them have hung out the past 3 years, sneaking into buildings, listening to "Music for the Masses," and going to the rooftop looking down at the city until the Moon fell asleep.
"Pierre," a nod. they both smile at each other.
" Well, I should be going. It's getting late." It's 9:15pm.
"Fucking Liar," she blurted out like a hiccup.
"Justice, I have an early day tomorrow." She's right, he's lying. He stand up, flicks the menthol cigarette and gives her a kiss in the forehead but she in turn slides her head up to face until her Bombay Sapphire lips meets his nicotine breathe.
"Night Justo," he turns and as he walks away she starts yelling.
" I'm gonna fucking jump, I'm gonna jump."
Merde, he thought. He was having the best day and this! Really. Besides, if she does jump, she'll probably just break a few bones, it's just the second floor.
"Justice, chill." They make out. She calms down. He leaves.
Finally, he can get some sleep, or so he thought.
posted by Giovanni Ortega at
5:30 PM
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