A story 4: Boredom Wars

A story 4: Boredom Wars

He spit on me. He fucking just spit on me. The guy who would always say hi to me after I got out of french class just looked down at me from higher up on the exterior stair well and spit on me.

Well I made noises and half formed words and tried to spit out some kind of modern curse but the best I could do was turn red and the face and approach him. He laughed and looked at me as I walked up. He wasn’t scared. He was so god damn happy with himself.

He gave one last laugh and ran off. I ran after him. I ditched my textbook halfway in; he looked back every so often and kept up his smile.

I completely ran out of breath and he got away.

This is why people write, so they can settle.

He spit on me and I walked up the stairwell. He was proud of himself and laughing and he was half tempted to run away but something kept him there. We just looked at each other.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Ooh come on. Spencer. Calm down.”

“Fuck off.”

He walks away and I’m left there. At least I got to say something. A full thought.

He spit on me and I yelled out.

“Oh you fucker!”

And I sprinted up the stairwell and got up to him as he turned around. I grabbed up by stupid fucking white boy dreadlocks and brought him stumbling back towards me. He looked at me with a fury. Suddenly I was scared and didn’t know what the hell to do. God, that was a moment that lasted too long. My hands were balled up in fists but couldn’t move. He was just a baked pot head feeling particularly uncouth that day. So my anger ended up diffused by an awkward stare. I breathe and walk away.

I can’t write a fight with a straight face because I have yet to have to fight someone with a straight face.

Humor is instantaneous writing that keeps us from acting like animals.

He spits on me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He just laughs at me.

“What fucking ever. Jesus Christ. I’m going to go now.”

I walk away and his face settles down, no longer having anything in particular to react to. I eat lunch, he eats lunch.

Yep, that’s the one. Just because he doesn’t understand social mores doesn’t mean I can’t. Man, I’m boring.

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