Ames's profile

The young male painter stands in his dirty white t-shirt and a pair of torn khaki shorts with the logo-patch of his painting company half-hanging off the back pocket. He swings from the bars by both arms in the center aisle. He hangs He rocks He sways The jolting starts and stops do their best to throw him but, striving against their inertia he remains standing.

He told me Under the Bridge by the Red Hot Chili Peppers was his bad-luck song. He claimed every time it played on the radio something bad was about to happen to him. I didn’t find that incredible then. At fourteen I was fascinated by this sixteen year-old boy whose black Nike hoodie (with the white Nike emblem blacked out by a sharpie) continuously smelled of varied ratios of Adidas Sport cologne to marijuana smoke. His name was Enrique and he had numerous white scars on his arms that could ...

Amy sat on her porch, a cordless phone nestled between her shoulder and the crook of her neck. Sean lounged on the steps, pretending not to take interest in the conversation. He looked intently at the Sports Illustrated magazine he held resting on his knees. “I love you. Bye, bye Honey.” Amy hung up the phone and picked up her pen to do the Sunday crossword. “Why are you with him?” Sean suddenly blurted. Amy looked at him, brows furrowed in confusion. She shifted her gaze to the tall cypress...

average punk these days sagged jeans cigarette scent languid walk shaking trees manly pose child’s talk

I want to smoke a cigarette. I want to sit on a porch in the misty air Of a quiet summer morning near the Puget Sound And to spend an afternoon with Sarah the summer after freshman year Lighting up our pop-can pipe under the ferry docks As we talk of conspiracies and yellow cars. I want to watch the news and see That my mother’s boyfriend has made the world- Wide most wanted list. I want to stalk the night That Ricky was jumped by those cowards And force my friends to let go of me So I can p...