It was a warm and spring-like evening when our heroine sat tapping away at her keyboard, clad in unsightly short shorts and a 15-year-old concert t-shirt that never would live to see the streets again.
Tom Waits wailed in his gravelly splendour as a breeze softly batted the bamboo blinds. She peered over the rim of her glass at the words before her, unsure where the fuck any of it would go.
But with the right music on the right night with the right drink in the wrong clothes with the tapping toes, well, who needs luck? She shrugged.
The trouble was, with such an easy tappy kind of rhythm to the night, with the lackadaisical ease of early Spring, and the peace that comes from being a Canadian whose team is on the verge of sweeping the first round of playoffs, where’s the conflict our heroine would muster to create, well, you know, a bloggy thing?
But then she turned to Twitter. Ahh, Twitter.
“You festering cesspool of silliness and brilliance, lay it on me,” she urged it.
And there, then, as if on cosmic cue, a question was asked by a local blogger*:
“What makes a kiss a heart-wrenching butterfly-launching stomach-tingly tingle-to-your-toes kiss?”
So, our heroine quipped and @replied to her, “A wall helps.”
But then, because she didn’t feel like being tweet-stalked by guys all night, she direct-messaged the woman with her real reply: “Gimme a man against a wall for a kiss, and I’ll show you an instrument of my bidding.”
So Tom Waits continued crooning his raspy ramblings over a tinkly piano as she leaned back, nursing the glass, ever so slowly sipping on the rye, wistfully deciding, “Walls. I need more walls.”
***
And you? What do you need more of?
*http://twitter.com/julesjulesjules
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