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| Tuesday, July 11, 2006 |
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Back before, they were just two kids in love.
Nic always joked that he knew they'd be together from the first moment they met, him waiting patiently for his prescription, she being the quiet clerk trying to figure out what she wanted from life. She rang through the drugs for the clap. He came back again once it was cured.
Marnie, for her part, always claimed that she never really noticed him, never noticed any customer for that matter. Too shy by far, she rarely looked over he glasses at strangers, hiding behind manners and good taste. Much as her mother wanted it. When Nic came back again, this time buying toilet paper, she noticed only his thick worn hands. Dirty, used hands. hands that had a purpose, that were unafraid of a little trial, a little work. Marnie decided to look up.
Nic was only able to work up the courage to ask her out the fourth time her went shopping. The third was her day off, and resulted in a wasted trip and extra bleach. The fourth she was rummaging through a counter of cough syrup, purging the almost past dated items for the sale bin. He surprised her by walking so quietly, and again by holding roses. He had checked for her this time.
Her parents hated him intensely. |
posted by thordora @ 4:44 PM  |
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| Moi |
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Name: thordora
Home: Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada
About Me: Riding a Roller Coaster ridiculously trying to ream repeated rounded consonants out.
See my complete profile
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Awhile back, a friend and I decided that Radishes, while pretty cool, are never the first pick on the plate, and you certainly can never eat a lot of them. Certain people also fit this criteria. The writings as a byproduct of my manic periods are my radishes.
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