BUBBLE TEA PT.2, PAGE 1

"Do you remember the matchstick man?" She often speaks her mind in the form of a rhetorical question. "Don't you think Italian sounds better?" or "Dose this seem unsafe?" It's annoying to find out a woman's catches and it's definitely a burden when you grow tired of them. Really, she is asking me to join in her nostalgia. I, however, would like to continue to loose myself in the nights mitigation of this uncomfortable chair.


I like sitting out here on the porch at night. Up here I can still see the lights and hear the sounds, like the looping note from below right now. Coming from all the way down there, in the heart of the city. It's a car honking. A troubling sound probably due to a traffic incident. Frantic and frequent. It's so loud, he must be pressing the wheel very hard. Makes me wonder what it is, if it's an emergency. But it doesn't matter- it stops. Crisis handled.

You know, looking down at the city at night is kinda like looking at an ant farm or something... It appears complex but still maintains the aesthetics of simplicity. I think she is more interested in the fancy candles we lit. Damn it. These apartment buildings are so boring, almost as much as the suburbs. At least we are near the top, with a nice view. I'd hate to live in an apartment in the suburbs with nothing to look at but assholes with nothing to look at, sitting on their plot of urban sprawl. I would hate it, but what she thinks is ideal... well.

But what could you be thinking? I watch her reach one finger to caress the glass rim around the candle. We make eye contact. It's like poking a sleeping arm. I know she is still as attractive as day one, she hasn't changed, but I've been with her for five years. I know it... I just can't feel it anymore. I don't know when I stopped seeing her the way I used to but it came to my attention a short time after we had moved here. How can someone be different by staying the same? It must be funny because it's a joke we all know.

With a hum she resubmits her question. You have got to be kidding me. What's the point in combing over the past night after night? Why not just sit here in piece, feel the nice breeze roll by. What's you're angle anyway? Of course I remember the Matchstick man. I resent even thinking about him now. It's all so stupid. Might as well sit around and talk about ponies or teddy bears or ice cream...

This guy, the matchstick man, he was a personified combination of street performance and folk art. He had a little portable stand that probably once vended ice cream. Inside it played the begining of "Once In A Life Time" by Talking Heads in an infinite loop. He was a born performer. At first he would stand there lifeless, looking at the ground. The music switched on and every repetition of the looped beat would bring him more and more into life until was doing what could only be described as interpretive breakdacing. His Finale was a flip backward on to his hands. Then he hand walked over to the stand and, with his feet, picked up at straw hat. He'd hand walk around the perimeter of spectators and collect donations. After that he would carefully place the hat back on the stand and foot-pick-up a small cardboard box. Of course he didn't know who was giving what, but if you were lucky he'd hand walk right to you and present the box, full of matchstick figurines held together with glue. She was one of the lucky ones.