Scene at a Pool Hall

I've been told I'm a graceful smoker. (does this mean i am killing myself w/elegance?)

"It looks like you're making love to your cigarette," said the boy w/an idiotic grin that tried too hard to be flirtatious. He looked like Doogie Howser wearing lipstick.

"Yeah," I replied. He put a pudgey hand on my shoulder. I ducked to pick up a bottle cap. His hand fell to his side, and he took a step back. I stared at the flickering Rolling Rock sign and continued making love to my cigarette. He just stared at me.

Finally...

"What do you think of George W. Bush?"

"Nothing."

He laughed. Loudly. The pudgey hand went for my shoulder again, and I ducked to put the cap back on the floor.

I didn't like this boy. He drove a Porsche. He had bad shoes. He had even worse grammar. He was creepy. I didn't want this boy looking at me. I didn't want this boy thinking about kissing me. I glanced over at him. He was staring at me and licking his lips.

I focused on the Tom Petty song playing on the jukebox. I thought about the past and change and tried my damndest to cry. Just a couple tears. Then I could jump up, yell something cryptic like 'you don't know shit!' and run out into the balmy night. Once outside, I would wipe my eyes and walk the 7 miles home as I splashed in puddles and let the rain wash away his words, glances, touches. He wouldn't call ever again because boys don't like crazy girls.

The Tom Petty song came to an end.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he said.

"Fuck you."

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