Tuesday, December 16, 2008
I'm walking in when I hear them. Two guys going off, tossing f-bombs and I think, the N word. They aren't fighting but I arch an eyebrow at them anyways when I walk by. I've got a wicked eyebrow arch. One of them sees me and immediately snaps to attention and apologizes profusely. He makes me laugh because he seems so genuinely contrite, this gangster dude all hyped up ma'aming me with a grin that could charm the icicles off Alaska.
I tell him and I mean it I don't care what kind of smack you talk as long as you aren't saying it to me but i don't think he believes me because on my way out he apologizes again. I touch his arm and I say with every bit of the 38 years of seriousness I can muster I wonder how your mother might feel if she heard you talking all this hype and I arch my eye again. Now he's laughing too and he says probably not so good and we both go in different directions, like we probably have our whole lives but for that one moment we were exactly the same.
Edited to say: it was more about me wanting to prove that I didn't care how he talked than whatever he was talking about. There's a dance that happens, based on a hard edge and the limits of our surroundings. It's funny how we both were preoccupied with perception.