SEE THERE’S THIS KID, RIGHT, NAKED- well, half naked- shirtless, a body like a cross between the David and Randy from Trailer Park Boys, slouching drunk and half-naked in a tin chair
what do you think you’re doing?
The kid’s thinking in splices- I guess, we all do- but maybe ‘in blocks’ is better writing: Trying to piece together blocks of the black out: How he got to the classroom: How and who the fuck would dye my hair when I’m passed out, when I was, how it must have felt like washing the fur of a dead dog
get a shirt before I call them, the office- I’ll give you a minute
The teacher isn’t thinking much, “thinking much” as in anything new, “thinking much” as in anything outside the gut reaction rage handed down from his monkey ancestry, growling against something that has clashed with The Normal And Good Things in A Plan That Have Been Told To Me To Be Good
I’m calling the office
What we miss when we try this, when we try to filter our interactions with strangers with labels and character lists and those comfortable Us vs Them narratives- blue hair vs teacher, protester vs police, randy vs julian- we miss the beauty of our interactions- how hilarious or sad they are, or how you might have got along with that person, you know, actually been BFF in another situation, if you stopped seeing characters, when you started appreciating the colours around
don’t say I didn’t give you a warning