Scraps

I've developed an unfortunate habit of starting stories and never finishing them. That's why I never have anything to post anymore. I still read everyone else's blogs though and I'm afraid the relationship is becoming a bit one sided. I feel like the blog world equivalent of a voyeur. But not as unwanted, I hope. So these are a few things I've written since at school, maybe some day they'll go somewhere.

DeLong sat by the window and counted the number of times the miniature raisin buzzed into the glass square. It was now half past seven and was, admittedly, becoming rather difficult to follow its movements between the shadows of the windowpane and the queasy pale of the light from the storefront below. It was an hour earlier when the last of the toyhouse people had replaced their teacups and with much politeness and fussing, had taken their overdue leaves. When the evening wind had swept the last of the offending diminutives out of sight, DeLong retired to the pale green folding chair. The padded foam beneath his posterior and buttocks had long since failed to lend any support to his knobby frame; its function now limited to as much an ornamental purpose as a mulish one.

DeLong sat by the window and tried not to think about the last time he had swept the floor. It was not a particularly difficult task for DeLong; he was always forgetting to sweep the floor.

"I miss having the woods to walk into and just get lost in."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Nothing.

My roommate moved out yesterday. No kidding. I came back to the room and his clothes and books were all thrown out in the hallway and he was gone. I didn’t think anything of it then because it was pretty late and I had had a thing or two to drink, but when I woke up the next morning and saw his stained, empty bed I knew he wasn’t coming back. I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do with all his things lying in the hall though so I called his phone. I must’ve still been drunk then because I could hear it ringing like it was in the room somewhere even though I knew he wasn’t. Anyways, it was starting to give me a headache so I hung up and moved my chair so I couldn’t see the mess outside the door. I didn’t sit down though, but closed the door and lay back down on my bed. I wasn’t finished with last night.

You could tell she was into it though. I mean, when you’ve been with enough girls you sort of get to knowing when a girl’s feeling it or not, and when she’s just a good dancer or something. And believe me, this girl was feeling it. I mean obviously not the whole time. It’s damn hard to hold a girl’s attention the whole time the two of you are dancing, especially if she’s a real looker. I used to play baseball with a kid who could do it, but he never gave up the trick. You’d just ask him about it and he’d throw you some line about listening and really caring. Believe me, I care a helluva lot. But most nights that isn’t enough to get you back with the girl you really want. And it definitely never helped me get girls back the way he did. Not that he did it as much as other guys. I never understood that. When you got a trick as clean as that and you’re not getting it every night, well that just seems like a shame and a waste to me. This girl was definitely into it though. Trust me, you can count on that. Sometimes you can just tell.