They hum like angels

created by icicle

(idea) by icicle (1.4 d) (print) ? 5 C!s I like it! Fri Nov 03 2000 at 7:58:35

Fluorescent lights in the bathroom bring out in me a kind of essential ugliness like the Twinkie-eating tweaker at the a.m./p.m. register at five in the morning with her badly dyed hair and acne scars and sagging face and smearing eyeliner. I open my wallet and give her what's left of me for a half-filled cup of sullied coffee and a bag of Chips Ahoy. She looks at me long, checking the time and my eyes, maybe for redness, maybe for somebody's soul. Looks at me with my badly dyed hair and face broken in with the marks of giving up.

At five in the morning I hate myself and my face and my orphan-Annie hair and my swooning optimism and my rested-assurance that in spite of my zombie appearance and gross incompetence, it will be all right, because at five in the morning I've given up believing in anything but coffee and fishnet stockings. And from the hood of my car the glint of his eyes flecked with tears and the obligatory unfelt goodnight kiss. And the moon retreating. There is no sun in Oregon this time of year but a chilly ghost running her fingers across the morning sky, painting it lighter and breathing in the fog.

Fluorescent lights in the bathroom at a.m./p.m. sing like angels at five in the morning a song to make you wish you were dead, or beautiful, or competent at something other than heartbreak. The tampon machine is jammed with Canadian money and the last thing I need is a pina colada condom this morning or to record, Sharpie in hand, my pain in the wall. But I buy one and do so and drink my coffee on the front stoop and wait for nothing, hope for nothing, swinging like a reed.

printable version
chaos

It's 2 in the morning and I own the world	And then, she expressed frustration with life in general	I will go. I shall go. I'll see where the end may be.	I've given up believing in anything but coffee and fishnet stockings
5am in the middle of a wasted summer	Charlotte, who, like a lot of low-maintenance women, cannot tell a lie, said, Yes.	I figured it all out	The Four and Twenty Elders Casting their Crowns before the Divine Throne
Ravers are people, too	Kiss	Ned Flanders	Borg
Memento	Everything you're not supposed to do	Ground Control to Major Tom	tweaker
2 am Christmas morning; uptown	just a night	distinguished monkey	Live On Tomorrow
Deranger	Young man, I'm flattered	August 13, 2007	September 13, 2006

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