What I Know About Jack
After dusting off his glasses, he realized that there was no dramatic change.
His living room is the color of shit. And his face blends perfectly into it.
The white girl was still dancing the Arabian dance, three songs later, and that's cool with him. He had already run out of Kahlua, and now relied solely on repetition to keep high.
Buddy Jack lied on the couch next to him, asleep. The green cathode light of Arabia reflected off Jack's shiny little face, mirrored the movements of water, and incense, and plaid skirts. This girl Jack met on Facebook, who was supposed to meet up for real, with all her many girlfriends, never showed up. (Who the hell meets up with strangers from Facebook - that's what I asked Jack.) But Jack didn't listen to me, and now he's all Jacked-out, asleep.
Such is life, again.
I peeled away the brown paper of the Kahlua bottle. I tossed the bottle against the dirty frat wall. I imagined a smash, a splash, and all the glass shards like rock and roll on the brown carpet, but instead the bottle bounced, in tact, twice, and rolled limply on the floor, next to Jack's feet.
(This disappointment was too great for me, and I left the apartment. Two steps to the door, and no one noticed.)
Meanwhile, Jack's friend was still sitting on the couch, watching the Arabian girl who was now eating popcorn and grinning at her naked girlfriend. He, jealous, too was disappointed - this night of broken promises, and facebook pokes. Jack began to snore, and Jack's friend took a tissue paper and snuffed him out.
This is how Jack died.
At the funeral, his high school friends had a lot to say. And some underclassmen who never knew him, but heard of him from friends or was friended by him on facebook. And Jack would have been happy to know that overall, he was a well-liked man. His creepiness was attributed to his friendly spirit, and his acne was attributed to his incompetent doctor who didn't know jack about skin conditions.
His friend, who accompanied him in his death throes, swore to a fantastic ending: white girls in Arabian dresses that they met in a club downtown, and partied with all night long until they crashed at Jack's room, from exhaustion.
His living room is the color of shit. And his face blends perfectly into it.
The white girl was still dancing the Arabian dance, three songs later, and that's cool with him. He had already run out of Kahlua, and now relied solely on repetition to keep high.
Buddy Jack lied on the couch next to him, asleep. The green cathode light of Arabia reflected off Jack's shiny little face, mirrored the movements of water, and incense, and plaid skirts. This girl Jack met on Facebook, who was supposed to meet up for real, with all her many girlfriends, never showed up. (Who the hell meets up with strangers from Facebook - that's what I asked Jack.) But Jack didn't listen to me, and now he's all Jacked-out, asleep.
Such is life, again.
I peeled away the brown paper of the Kahlua bottle. I tossed the bottle against the dirty frat wall. I imagined a smash, a splash, and all the glass shards like rock and roll on the brown carpet, but instead the bottle bounced, in tact, twice, and rolled limply on the floor, next to Jack's feet.
(This disappointment was too great for me, and I left the apartment. Two steps to the door, and no one noticed.)
Meanwhile, Jack's friend was still sitting on the couch, watching the Arabian girl who was now eating popcorn and grinning at her naked girlfriend. He, jealous, too was disappointed - this night of broken promises, and facebook pokes. Jack began to snore, and Jack's friend took a tissue paper and snuffed him out.
This is how Jack died.
At the funeral, his high school friends had a lot to say. And some underclassmen who never knew him, but heard of him from friends or was friended by him on facebook. And Jack would have been happy to know that overall, he was a well-liked man. His creepiness was attributed to his friendly spirit, and his acne was attributed to his incompetent doctor who didn't know jack about skin conditions.
His friend, who accompanied him in his death throes, swore to a fantastic ending: white girls in Arabian dresses that they met in a club downtown, and partied with all night long until they crashed at Jack's room, from exhaustion.
posted by Green Stripster @ 9:12 AM
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