Monday, October 07, 2002

sometimes it’s the little things

sometimes it’s the little things that get me going… the purple press-on fingernail on the pavement outside the bus station, maybe ripped from a cuticle or having secretively detached itself, glistening like a tiny tongue amidst the bits of dirt and garbage… where was she when she saw it was missing?  Had she worn it for a special event?  Did she think its bruised curves made her look glamorous, sexy, not unemployed and nearly homeless, worthy of a second look?  Was it part of a special outfit?  Cosmetic feature, transplanted, disrupted, gone from an accessory feature of fabulosity to a gruesome amputated limb, waiting for a finger to lift it up and point with it, yes thats it up there just follow my purpleness - knowing that finger has come and abjured and gone - waiting for the dustpan and how long before it disappears in dust??  That special outfit will be long defunct before this fingernail changes color....