be brilliant… get noticed…

don’t think it works that way anymore, bub. more like write shit, flashy plop, go to the bank

This is where we go to meet. This is where we go to get a cup of pickled coffee for our thoughts. We collect them in a pickle jar with a slit in the lid. I tie it up to my vintage bicycle, and we ride away. We’ll come back tomorrow and order a plate of old jerky from another era. It always tastes like cardboard and ants, but that’s what fuels the mind.

Jimmy wears boat shoes as he hops up the steps. They creak and crack sending splinters flying out left and right. He snaps his suspenders. Our regular table is always in the back.

The paint is chipping away, original white wash finish. Jimmy says it’s got termites and we believe him. I paint my fingernails the same color and watch it chip each day as I tap them against the sticky table top. Danny’s got a story already; he wrote it as an ode to the ‘forgotten youth’ of the waitress here. He wrote it on a roll of calculator tape, and he keeps it tucked above his ear like a cigarette.

He tells us that her paint is chipping away; her stockings are riding down. He says she came out to California forty years ago from a shit-splat town in Nebraska. She came out here to be a star, but this place is as far away from Hollywood as Lincoln. We don’t believe him. Flies buzz around the pie tray. Flies buzz around the waitress. Our bikes are tied up outside in a line so we can ride away.

This is where we go to hate our lives. This is where we eat our lunch. The grilled cheese is either soggy, or dry, or tastes like someone forgot to pull the cheese off the plastic. We can taste the cooks fingertips in every bite. We can tell if he had eggs for breakfast, or just toast. We can tell when he’s washed his hair, or scratched his ass. Pickled coffee gets the taste out. Don’t get the reuben. Nothing gets that taste out.

The candy gets rid of the pickled coffee flavor. We always buy some of that before we leave. They keep it in baskets beside the counter. The flies don’t buzz around the candy. It is all petrified—caramels and butterscotch from WWI, candy corns from the first Halloween, and spiraled mints in red and white from all over time. We put one hand in and place a handful on the counter. We put another hand in and place a handful in our pockets. The waitress never sees us as she rings us up. I smile at her underneath my vintage kitty glasses, holding on tightly to our pickle jar. We just need to get outside to our bicycles so we can escape for another day.

baobaby asked: So, I heard about your LeVar Burton experience... ;D

oh lordy…. i need to use mah tooblar again… hahah

littlemissvalentine asked: Hello Mike! Belated Happy Valentines Day :) ♥

omg extremely belated thank YOU! 

But less sad. ^_______^

The only one that matters…

And she look a little like kurt cobain!

That’s exactly what it was.

Anonymous asked: http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ld4qdbwbrT1qc5dhto1_500.jpg

WHYYYY?????!!!!!!!!

xintsik:

Blue - If You Like Me

Red - If You Used to Like Me
Black - If You Love Me
Orange - If You Wanna Cuddle
Purple - If You wanna fuck
Green - If You Wanna Mess
Yellow - If You Miss Me
Gold - If You Wanna Kiss Me
Grey - If You Wanna Become Friends

(Source: hoyitscjay)