Meeting a stranger for the first time can be quite the daunting task. You might hope for stranger person to hold on tightly to a bright conspicuous sunflower, but stranger person might announce a dull, pedestrian sweater for tracking intentions. You might scan the ambient area for one black sweater and wave at quite a few black lovers. Oh, yes there are quite a few of them. Now you know.
Your accent might become more polished and purrry, your intonation deep and purposeful. Yet at the exact moment of ejaculating the purrrr-fect 'Hellooooo...', irritating cab driver might bombard you with calls and castigations because you forgot to inform him that you didn't require his services. Never mind that four other cab drivers called before him. Yes, there are quite a few cab drivers as well. Now you know that too.
You might bare your teeth a lot, with a desire to model your flashing 32. But conversation might dwindle as pearly whitened orifice might scare more than share. Inebriation might evade your tight purse strings, loose cigarettes might evade your very premises, knowledge might evade Ralph Waldo Emerson's transcendentalist works. Conversation threatens to burn an indelible improper impression.
And then you discover that investing in windmills might save you a whole lot of tax, that Bengaluru was crazier than you imagined, and that there are scarier things than two drunk souls driving a car without a license, getting caught by cops in the middle of the night.
Meeting someone for the very first time can be stranger than friction. Because sometimes there just isn't any.
Your accent might become more polished and purrry, your intonation deep and purposeful. Yet at the exact moment of ejaculating the purrrr-fect 'Hellooooo...', irritating cab driver might bombard you with calls and castigations because you forgot to inform him that you didn't require his services. Never mind that four other cab drivers called before him. Yes, there are quite a few cab drivers as well. Now you know that too.
You might bare your teeth a lot, with a desire to model your flashing 32. But conversation might dwindle as pearly whitened orifice might scare more than share. Inebriation might evade your tight purse strings, loose cigarettes might evade your very premises, knowledge might evade Ralph Waldo Emerson's transcendentalist works. Conversation threatens to burn an indelible improper impression.
And then you discover that investing in windmills might save you a whole lot of tax, that Bengaluru was crazier than you imagined, and that there are scarier things than two drunk souls driving a car without a license, getting caught by cops in the middle of the night.
Meeting someone for the very first time can be stranger than friction. Because sometimes there just isn't any.
10 comments:
Very well written, I loved that. I'm going to go through your archives first chance I get.
I was also about to tell you to update :p
nice. very nice. (but i've told you that already!)
"knowledge might evade Ralph Waldo Emerson's transcendalist works"
hahaha! Very nice, very nice.
ha ha ha!
Knowledge might even evade Ralph Lauren's fragrant creations!
ha ha ha!
very funny!
hmmmmmm....
renovatio: Thank you very much. Has that chance arrived yet? :)
aandthirtyeights: But I have told you that already, also!
jugular bean: I did read up later to update with utmost integrity.
sudhir pai: One question. Drunk much?
raman: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
and then again, there are strangers who crave for friction. keystroke friction, butterfly-stroke friction, help-me-i-can't-swallow-my-spit friction. and they too wear black sweaters, oh yes, occasionally, they wear them inside out. their personalities, that is, not the sweaters.
friction can be addictive, especially in the soggy northern winters when all that lies between mink blankets and lukewarm dilemmas is "a systematic derangement of the senses", that's poetic friction for you but fuck Rimbaud, if this friction you speak of is any warmer than the truth I type about, send me some of it immediately. ;)
Sweet! Good stuff.
Hehe! I like...
I like it. Well written.
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