My roommate told me I should post this to the list. Sorry if it's a bit long. "Hardly Getting Over It" The clouds rolled darkly across the black night sky as Jenna trudged homeward through the cold Cambridge streets. The last strains of the band she'd just seen showed no signs of fading from her ears, and she rued the picture in her head of her bedside table: next to her diary and her driver's license lay three sets of earplugs. It was hard to say which bothered her more, for while the lack of earplugs meant that her head would still be ringing in the morning, the fact that she'd forgotten her ID had meant that she'd had to cadge a few drinks off various members of the audience: cadaverous indie-rock geeks who spent more time checking out the guitar player's gear than the gaggle of girls who tried in vain to catch an eye-- anyone's eye. The result of all her haggling was that she was now barely drunk at all, and would be completely sober by the time she walked the two miles back to the house she was staying in, and so the vague emptiness she was just starting to feel would almost definitely deepen before she went to bed, and would probably linger throughout the following day, which was Sunday, which was bad enough without having to add further reason to mope. The pale blue-green of her wristwatch told her it was 1:45, and she still had about thirty minutes of walking ahead of her. Her bobed and dyed black hair fell about her face as she hung her head and thought that after so many shows over the summer at the Middle East, she should've learned by now not to get seperated from her friends who drove. She passed some bars, which were just beginning to empty out for the night, and some shops and cafes, all of which had long been closed. Neon remained on, and the eerie glow the signs cast made Jenna feel especially surreal as she regarded herself with passing glances in windows. She sometimes wondered what the point was in the dyed hair, combat boots, and thrift-store dresses. She told herself it was identity thing, that she dressed like everyone else in order to feel that she belonged to something reater than a fantasy world; she told herself it was economical; she told herself the boys liked it. She told herself many things, many times, and often she believed some of them. Eventually she found her way through Harvard Square, past the sealed-up entrance to the Red Line (devoid at this hour of the crusty punks she would look on with a vague nostalgia), and out Mt. Auburn Street to the house she was spending the month looking after. Upstairs the answering machine followed her weary movements with an unwavering red eye; the clothes she'd rejected earlier in the night still littered the bed; and the window was wide open, letting the breeze she'd just left, the breeze of a loud, lonely Saturday night at the end of an unusually cold September. Christ, it was a little longer than I thought it was. Anyway, now I'm off to work. aaron === atieger@rocketmail.com auger/anvil "Strike another match, go start anew and it's all over now, baby blue." --Bob Dylan _____________________________________________________________________ Sent by RocketMail, free e-mail for the planet. * Visit & explore Cybersmith at http://www.cybersmith.com * Get your web-based e-mail at http://www.rocketmail.com +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list please mail "sinister@majordomo.net". To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to "majordomo@majordomo.net". For list archives and searching, list rules, FAQ, poor jokes etc, see http://www.majordomo.net/sinister +---+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" +---+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+