The Big Apple: Can you bite it?

The wind was refreshing, well, at least to a certain degree. They day seemed longer than it had to be, and sadly, I had no means of making it go by any faster. Damn. I found myself sitting under a tree, taking in the views. Well, actually, there wasn't really much scenery to speak of. The only view I had was the leaves falling from the tree in an asymmetrical way. Humor, however, found me just as I allowed myself to be consumed by the Bob, my private boredom imp. The manner which the students walked out of the building resembled ants leaving the nest to forage. One followed the other, detecting the scent trails as they flocked together in groups outside the building. However, such good things never seem to last. Pity, is it not. I was soon chased away from my entertainment much like how a hyena would be chased from its prey. The merciless wind carried with it fragments of unintelligible conversation, stupid enough to drive the most patient of intellectuals insane. Now, dear reader, I must make this clear. I was not eavesdropping. I was merely, coincidentally, at the spot when "they" chose to converse. Moreover, it was honestly more a form of cruel and unjust torture rather than a crime.

"I talked with him yesterday."
"Oh my god! I'm so mad at you now!"
"He's not labeled with your name, that was so ages ago!"
"I still didn't say you could talk to him! He's still mine! Bitch!"
"Whore!"

I fled quickly. Desperately, I sought some other occupation, but what came was certainly the least desirable of such. "Hello, Vincent," said "it" in a slurring voice. I choose to keep his name confidential, for I am not being specific in my accusation. The name is taboo to me anyway. The voice seemed to echo non-stop in my head, mocking me. Despite all that, I managed to reply. That makes me very, very proud. After awhile, I was able to free myself and escape into the cityscape. Here, the organized appearance of things soothed my aching soul, rejuvenating with its intangible fountain of youth. In this new labyrinth I roamed, weaving about the city streets. I've always wondered why such a scientific, symmetrical place such as this must be associated with an apple. The epitome of all icons of childhood. We all remember, do we not, the worm and the apple car? As I walked past a neighborhood friendly 7-11's store, I decided to give in to a bit of self indulgence. That should answer all my problems.

I found myself in the streets again, breathing smog and the fragrant smell of cup noodles. This made me somewhat reminiscent, for I remembered vaguely that someone had mentioned to me in the tenth grade that I had bought the last chicken cup noodle. "Chili-lime is not a real flavor!" she had said. I ate, walking aimlessly when I saw "her." Not the same person from tenth grade, of course, but another "her." As I began to call out, I suddenly stopped myself short, swallowing my words and burning my throat with the soup. There was another with her, a "he" if I can so justly label him. They were busily "kissing" each other. Kissing, now, is not enough to describe what was going on. All I know is that I heard sucking noises from clear across the street.

My mind cleared, though, as I walked on, and I was able to find my way homeward. On this route I began to travel, with a cup of half eaten noodles in one hand and the weight of the world in the other. (A quarter, of course! Money makes the world go round!)

Indirect Observation, 3/2004

This one is for dear Tree and her true little quote ;) Chili-lime is not a real flavor! Also for a certain someone, since I stole her favorite word.