"My name is Domino Harvey"

" 'k' 59 turns into 84 east? to LA 5 to 171 north? Hummmm" Funny I didn't see ANY signs that said Shreveport. Three people told me to 'follow the signs'. I finally made it to his house. The neighborhood is quaint & quirky, just like mine. It's what I like to refer to as a mish mash of people and ideas, morality and immortality, appearance vs reality. The paint in his bedroom matches mine in the dining & living room. "Do you still believe in coincidences?" Well, yes...yes I do.

Imagine you've just walked into a creative space. Creativity without pretension without obstruction without overwhelmedness. I sat on the bed and realized the pain in my shoulder was gone; my back didn't hurt anymore. I'd only had one glass of wine and one cigarette...nothing to an Irish girl. We sat together on the porch and smoked again...me in his bathrobe and he in his jeans. The rain is just a trickle, but it feels so good tickling your cheeks. Even your senses can be deceitful in times such as these. Did you think it was only emotions that are deceitful? Oh no...OH NO! I don't feel things...well, I try not to. And what was this? Contaminated rain water was calming my frayed nerves. Those deceitful, DECEITFUL senses. Sight. Smell. Sound. Taste. Touch...especially touch. They are evil...the whole lot of them.

We flip on a DVD. "Fucking 90210" "That's Choco, he's always fancied me." I fell into a diphenhydramine HCl induced sleep. It was beautiful.
No sun at 10:30 the next morning. More contaminated rain. The diet coke and Mexican food tasted so good. That calm cautious feeling was present sitting at one of the tall tables in the covered patio. Not much conversation, but that's the way I like it. I'm only chatty when I drink too much. He's too cool to be chatty. I felt comfort. Was it the sight of the boy next to me? The familiar smell of the food? The typical sound in the restaraunt? The terrible touch of his hand?

"It's ok, Jesus drank wine." The spoon-fed intelligence of a young girl is validating my warm sake consumption. She was...cute. She called me ma'am. It was all horrorfyingly sweet. A friend of the family, from their church came up to them, hand out stretched like any political church goer. I leaned over to make it known my biggest fear in life is turning into that. The perfect family, the perfect faith, the perfect facade.

It was inevitable I suppose. If not then, definitely down the line. The talk. The "I like you but not enough to commit" talk. Let's be fair. He lives far from me. He works weekends. It would be difficult. It's fine, really. But, damn the sex was good. The understated connection was nice too. Oh well. I don't fight for boys. Shouldn't boys be doing the fighting? One day there will be one to fight for me...or maybe there won't. It's fine. Really.

Breakfast at 1:00pm CST. I asked if he thought I was negative. "No more than I am" was his perfect response. "A little cynical maybe, but people who aren't don't get it." It's awfully unfortunate we had to end on that note, because, I never heard something more true. Of course I was smitten when I drove four hours to see the boy, but that threw me over. That one statement made me want to come back for more and never leave.

The world is full of statements. Mine is "Cynical : People who aren't don't get it". Oh, and "It's ok, Jesus drank wine". www.matisyahu.org