When I was a senior in high school, my boyfriend worked at a 7-11. He worked graveyard shifts, but he wouldn't sell me beer. Instead, I went to the store after I was done with friends, buzzed, and wandered around the aisles. I should have known then the person who constantly checks is the person with a guilty conscience. The first time I did it, he didn't get it. I walked down aisles filled with Doritos and Lay's, my arms spread wide singing, "I'm leavin' on a jet plane..." "What are you doing?" he asked. I kept singing, "don't know when I'll be back again. " "Are you leaving?" he asked. "It's a song." I looked at him all disheveled in his red 7-11 apron and wondered what I was doing here. It was 4am. The night was turning indigo. Maybe it was time to go. "I don't like it." "It's just a song," I answered. "But it's late." I ...
Sometimes I make sense. Sometimes I make you think. Sometimes I just need to write.