Whathisname goes Wheredoyoucallit

Walking in the snow-down winter, asnd under the snow-grey sky, our hero, who chance would call thomas but I will choose to call by the more generic, well, hero, ponders the lack of anthing to do in this snow-bound midwest city.

He walked here from a street named eighth, and here we are on second, to give you some idea of distance, to a used record store thats on maple and second, not that that will give you any clue as to which city our hero calls home, or any real clue as to where he might live (for all you know, eigth is a bad part of town, or not.)

I will tell you the things that he thought on his way from eigth to second, if you will bear me out a moment. He thought:

Can I really afford to be doing this?

He thought:

This album is good and I need to buy it.

He thought:

Valentine's day is close, and while I don't have a valentine, per se, I would like to show

1. Coworker who I am attracted to but cannot sleep with
2. Ex-coworker I am friends with but not attracted to
3. Ex-friend I want to sex all over the place
4. Ex-girlfriend I want to sex all over the place

That I still care, in a monetary fashion.

How much money is supposed to, every day, represent affection, your narrator, I, wonder. Well, so much for that. In the pull and throws of this debate, between selfish needs and the pursuit of flowers, which equal an unspecified amount of sex at an unspecified time, our hero walked. Through sleet, I might add, though it is late for me to add it.

Now, another thought, which popped into the previously eluded upon argument. A memory, of perhaps a thousand years past, or maybe just from 1999. And that memory, envolving a stuffed bear, and a night where our hero, who is not afraid to admit this quite publicly, to friends at least, performed adequetely in bed no less than five times. But it is the stuffed bear, and the lack of flowers, that strike our hero, and not the prolific sexing.

It is also this, that in 1998 they shared a latte, and a slice of cheesecake at what now, the narrator knows, is a conveniance store, but then was a cafe. It is also this, that later the same year they would fuck like rabbits on the day after our hero's house burned to the fucking ground (my expletive, not his).

I demand obscene occurences. I demand this.