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Drum Lines and Grip Tape Ch. 7Curly Fries and Murdered Lemons
It felt like I'd only been asleep for a few minutes when I began to slip out of dreamland. However, I was too tired to care why I woke up and just decided to keep my eyes locked tight, unwilling to move from such a comfortable napping position. I went to burrow my face deeper into my pillow and heard Jude mumble. That should've set off a signal in my brain, but naturally, I just thought he talked in his sleep.
Then, I felt two arms hug me tighter to my pillow, which smelled vaguely of the cologne Zac usually wears when he's trying to impress a girl. The pillow was warm beneath my face and seemed to move steadily up and down in tune with my breathing, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. I ran my fingers lightly across the pillow, wanting to wrap myself in the softness of its fabric.
The pillow sighed.
My mind frenzied as I suddenly became aware of the situation at hand. This pillow . . . it was Jude! My face was nestled in his chest, his ar
Drum Lines and Grip Tape Ch. 6Marisol, Meet George
That excitement I was talking about earlier . . . yeah, it kind of faded the minute I realized what I'd just agreed to do. Let me recap, just in case your memory needs refreshing: I just told Jude I wanted to learn how to skateboard--me, the most balance-impaired thing to grace the earth since Humpty Dumpty fell off that wall. My mom had tried improving my lack of coordination by enrolling me in gymnastics when I was younger, but she decided to pull me out after I broke my ankle walking over to the balance beam. Not walking on the balance beam, mind you . . . I sort of just tripped on my way there.
Honestly, if I had difficulty moving on solid ground, what really made me think I'd be okay on wheels?
You weren't thinking, I chastised myself. You were too busy making googley eyes and wiping the drool off your chin. All you can do now is hope you don't kill yourself
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
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