They're Mexican Fan Palms
8-6 W 12:02 PM
Pollo Loco. Blowing another eight bucks on lunch. The rationale is that since I have to get my TB test checked after school today, I won't be able to go right home to feed my starving gut. Sunny and hot, not a cloud in the sky. Everyone's talking about the triple digit heat, but I hardly notice it. I finished reading the newspaper. I have to do some ironing today. I wish I knew the names of the different palm trees. I think the tall, skinny ones are South Pacific Royal Palms. The short fat ones are Arabian Desert Palms. A man clasps his hands over his Pollo Loco and mumbles into them. A fat-cheeked, over-indulged, immaculately-combed kid stands at his table shrieking. His parents pretend like it's not happening. Why do some kids have faces that make you want to slap them?
Back in class. The kids are watching the Disney version of The Three Little Pigs. The Angels are on at one o'clock today. I may go to the store and get salad and sour cream to make fish tacos, get stamps and bread, razors, soap. Tonight I'll smoke, do my third person page, write to God in a different tone. What else? I want to color more skyscrapers from my drawing. Pluto's trying to catch a magic hat. I think I'll read Slouching Toward Bethlehem soon. The kids from my old class say they don't like their new teacher, and they want me back. Urg. What else? There are two TAs in this class, but they do very little. Ms. Owens has brought her grandson, Marcus, to class. They are drawing pictures of Spiderman and Ironman. Now Pluto is fooling with a mail-order turtle. Shirelle came over and said I said we should look for a place together. I don't remember saying that. She got upset. I cooked fish for dinner. She ate and went to bed. I stayed up late, writing. She came out a while later and said she was going home; there was nothing to do alone in the dark. I asked fs she was PMSing. She said she was. She bailed. Waited in the car a long time before firing it up and driving off. I started thinking about my future and about the Glorious compatability factor vs. the Shirelle doom factor. I'll read some more poems after this. Jose says something that I take to mean he doesn't like the video. He keeps wiping a thick, cream-colored snot on his shirt. I guess this weak-ass entry will have to do.
Pollo Loco. Blowing another eight bucks on lunch. The rationale is that since I have to get my TB test checked after school today, I won't be able to go right home to feed my starving gut. Sunny and hot, not a cloud in the sky. Everyone's talking about the triple digit heat, but I hardly notice it. I finished reading the newspaper. I have to do some ironing today. I wish I knew the names of the different palm trees. I think the tall, skinny ones are South Pacific Royal Palms. The short fat ones are Arabian Desert Palms. A man clasps his hands over his Pollo Loco and mumbles into them. A fat-cheeked, over-indulged, immaculately-combed kid stands at his table shrieking. His parents pretend like it's not happening. Why do some kids have faces that make you want to slap them?
Back in class. The kids are watching the Disney version of The Three Little Pigs. The Angels are on at one o'clock today. I may go to the store and get salad and sour cream to make fish tacos, get stamps and bread, razors, soap. Tonight I'll smoke, do my third person page, write to God in a different tone. What else? I want to color more skyscrapers from my drawing. Pluto's trying to catch a magic hat. I think I'll read Slouching Toward Bethlehem soon. The kids from my old class say they don't like their new teacher, and they want me back. Urg. What else? There are two TAs in this class, but they do very little. Ms. Owens has brought her grandson, Marcus, to class. They are drawing pictures of Spiderman and Ironman. Now Pluto is fooling with a mail-order turtle. Shirelle came over and said I said we should look for a place together. I don't remember saying that. She got upset. I cooked fish for dinner. She ate and went to bed. I stayed up late, writing. She came out a while later and said she was going home; there was nothing to do alone in the dark. I asked fs she was PMSing. She said she was. She bailed. Waited in the car a long time before firing it up and driving off. I started thinking about my future and about the Glorious compatability factor vs. the Shirelle doom factor. I'll read some more poems after this. Jose says something that I take to mean he doesn't like the video. He keeps wiping a thick, cream-colored snot on his shirt. I guess this weak-ass entry will have to do.
posted by johnz at 7:11 PM
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