#1
"Here I was, sixteen or seventeen..." you begin. Why are you talking of such things? He is obviously much older than that, because of the faraway tone he uses to explain. There is a certain age when one refers to single-digit years as "back then", of course, things can get in the way, widen that gap, maybe some middle-eastern transcendental philosophy that leaves one in a peaceful circle, or a war, or a death of a loved one. I saw he wasn't much older than that. He continued, "...I was warming my coffee one morning..." He warms his coffree. In the morning. I chuckle at his regularity. He says it so casually, as if it was not so long ago, but then, things so long ago are reduced to plain objects, holding as symbols to the scope of the event. Coffee has a strong scent to it, the smell of raw beans lying in shelves plastic see-through containers in the mall in my favorite aisle as a kid was enough to jolt my eyelids awake and watch the back of a boy as he receded through the crowd. Maybe I remember this as he remembers his coffee, because of it's smell. Maybe he drinks coffee every morning, so it is inevitable that any story he tells invloves coffee at some point or another. Maybe this was the only day of his life he ever drunk coffee. Maybe he simply likes coffee. Maybe he hates coffee. "This is less of a memory, more like a feeling in itself that I only had to discover", he says. I shift slightly in my seat. We are in a coffee shop overlooking Glorietta street. People pass by in currents and undercurrents and subcurrents and mini currents, all driven by impulses. But underneath their impluses lie stories, and I can bet that at least two of those people have stories that cross each other at one point, but not close enough, it was barely a strafe, a scratch on a car, that made them strangers. I try to find faces of people I once knew, and to my annoyance I always come back to the same faces, the faces of people I despised and spoilt rotten in my dreams, the pretty girls, always the pretty girls. I don't know how much of this spite comes from jealously. I longed to be born into their bodies for once, to wear the same skinny jeans and flowering hair, and wear the same elation on their faces. I took a sip from my bottled water.

"Are you even listening?" he asks me. "Huh?" I said, startled out of my internal clairvoyance. "Yes yes, of course". I was thinking about every word he said, but in reality all I had in my fingers were my own faulty conjectures that I crumpled up into an ashtray. We passed in silence over dinner, ourselves keeping to our own, and when he started to pay for the bill I made no objection.
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
#2
wow I didn't get it he was talking and there was something about coffee being strong my eyes started hurting a little bit through lol good detail language is good not bad just a little bit dull
#4
Laidback, good for the moment. On other ocassions I might have not liked it. Leave more open space when you feel it's needed.
Wise Man Says: The guitar is obviously female, she's got hips, breasts... and a hole.
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#5
I liked the parts about

maybe he drank coffee everyday and so all of his stories inevitably involve coffee at one point or another (paraphrase)

really really cool, I like the blithe lack of concern involved with this sort of a statement, it has more than one layer, and that would be the emotion of at least one of them.

the faces of the pretty girls - always the pretty girls (paraphrase)

good.

and around the end when you talked about actually being one of these pretty girls, reminds me of a line a friend of mine wrote 'oh how I want to be her, I want to look into a mirror and see her'. Really cool because it's a sort of a strong strange subconscious emotion that you directly described here, and I like it lots

tschiao
#6
Quote by parkt921k
I liked the parts about

maybe he drank coffee everyday and so all of his stories inevitably involve coffee at one point or another (paraphrase)

really really cool, I like the blithe lack of concern involved with this sort of a statement, it has more than one layer, and that would be the emotion of at least one of them.

the faces of the pretty girls - always the pretty girls (paraphrase)

good.

and around the end when you talked about actually being one of these pretty girls, reminds me of a line a friend of mine wrote 'oh how I want to be her, I want to look into a mirror and see her'. Really cool because it's a sort of a strong strange subconscious emotion that you directly described here, and I like it lots

tschiao


I'm glad you saw that, that was exactly what I wanted to convey with that part.

Quote by FretboardToAsh
Laidback, good for the moment. On other ocassions I might have not liked it. Leave more open space when you feel it's needed.


What do you mean? Can you give me an example of this 'open space'?

Quote by Themilkmaker
you a writing major by any chance?


Far from it. I am a high school kid.

Quote by bac738
wow I didn't get it he was talking and there was something about coffee being strong my eyes started hurting a little bit through lol good detail language is good not bad just a little bit dull


How can I make it less dull?


p.s. leave links and I will crit them.
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
#8
Quote by FretboardToAsh
I meant the layout, it's a wall of text that would shame Berlin.


It's called prose.
Quote by Ur all $h1t
I stick stuff in my pee hole.

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