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hip, jason london, musician jokes, naming, music magazine, slavery, gear, michael chapman, randy quaid, picture tupac, gabe jeffrey, by francesca lia block, slanderous, cooper, girl power, harbingerjournal, igor,
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We stood like that, comfortable with each other. Then the jogger hung up the phone. I looked at him with a question, and he just sort of shrugged. She always picked up. While he tried again, Al and I looked away and pretended not to notice. A busted old actors Volkswagen pulled into the station. It was chugging and clanking, and I actors had no idea how it ran. It was an old one with the seats in the trunk facing out the back window. A girl with long brown hair got out of the actors car. She had on one of those bohemian skirts with all the flippy stuff hanging off it. Damn. She was hot. No, not hot. She was beautiful—like a fucking fairy. I heard the phone slam down behind me and turned to see the jogger staring at the phone box. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the pumpkin teetering, teetering, and then it rolled off the other two and down the sidewalk.
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