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Old 11-19-2004, 11:54 PM   #1
Deviate
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the Return

It painted the horizon like a glimmer of warm sunshine promising to bring winter's first thaw. The sight was just as magnificent as I had imagined it, but somehow equally dispiriting, like realizing the anticlimactic end of of an exhaustive journey. There were no trumpets. There was no limosine. And I didn't see a fresh golden sunrise beckoning me home. Just a mile and a half stretch of forgotten, shadowed highway littered with smog-spewing factories and warehouses in disrepair.

As I turned my feet in the direction of town, I began to question why I felt the need to come back.
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Old 11-20-2004, 07:16 AM   #2
trisherina
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It painted the horizon like a glimmer of warm sunshine promising to bring winter's first thaw. The sight was just as magnificent as I had imagined it, but somehow equally dispiriting, like realizing the anticlimactic end of of an exhaustive journey. There were no trumpets. There was no limosine. And I didn't see a fresh golden sunrise beckoning me home. Just a mile and a half stretch of forgotten, shadowed highway littered with smog-spewing factories and warehouses in disrepair.

As I turned my feet in the direction of town, I began to question why I felt the need to come back.

The threat of tears made my eyes ache. Shut up, shut up I made my footsteps say. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I'd done enough of that before I decided on this return trip. Anger and self-pity had made me stop talking to people I needed to talk to, and after enough time passed I stopped wanting to. Didn't miss it at all.

I looked up from my feet in time to see the sign from the Coffee Cup Inn. "Home of the 10 cent refill!" A long time ago, I'd kept the cups full there. It opened at 5:30, even though the regulars never showed up before 6:00.
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Old 11-25-2004, 03:22 AM   #3
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It painted the horizon like a glimmer of warm sunshine promising to bring winter's first thaw. The sight was just as magnificent as I had imagined it, but somehow equally dispiriting, like realizing the anticlimactic end of of an exhaustive journey. There were no trumpets. There was no limosine. And I didn't see a fresh golden sunrise beckoning me home. Just a mile and a half stretch of forgotten, shadowed highway littered with smog-spewing factories and warehouses in disrepair.

As I turned my feet in the direction of town, I began to question why I felt the need to come back.

The threat of tears made my eyes ache. Shut up, shut up I made my footsteps say. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I'd done enough of that before I decided on this return trip. Anger and self-pity had made me stop talking to people I needed to talk to, and after enough time passed I stopped wanting to. Didn't miss it at all.

I looked up from my feet in time to see the sign from the Coffee Cup Inn. "Home of the 10 cent refill!" A long time ago, I'd kept the cups full there. It opened at 5:30, even though the regulars never showed up before 6:00.

They would never recognize me now after the years. A solitary man sat hunched over the coffee bar in a flat cap as if in granite, still save for the flicking of his cigarette. My father had flicked his Lucky Strikes like that. I blinked and my quick steps took me past the picture window and into the present.

I purposely walked the long way around my old high school, although I knew better. I had left this town to escape, full of young angst and looking for the ever-pervasive freedom that every teenager thinks cannot exist in one's hometown. A few kids walked opposite the street from me..... avoiding my eye contact; obviously repressed by the town and anyone over the age of thirty.

I sighed and took out of my backpack the only remnant of my teenage years: Camel Reds. Carrie, the cheerleader, would smoke them with me after school, with her perfume and spangle earrings. That was the only way she would associate with me, was to bum cigarettes. She got knocked up junior year. I stifled a laugh and a rattle sounded in my lungs. I thought of tiny little cheerleaders with bangle earrings in diapers.
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Old 12-07-2004, 04:14 AM   #4
trisherina
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It painted the horizon like a glimmer of warm sunshine promising to bring winter's first thaw. The sight was just as magnificent as I had imagined it, but somehow equally dispiriting, like realizing the anticlimactic end of of an exhaustive journey. There were no trumpets. There was no limosine. And I didn't see a fresh golden sunrise beckoning me home. Just a mile and a half stretch of forgotten, shadowed highway littered with smog-spewing factories and warehouses in disrepair.

As I turned my feet in the direction of town, I began to question why I felt the need to come back.

The threat of tears made my eyes ache. Shut up, shut up I made my footsteps say. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I'd done enough of that before I decided on this return trip. Anger and self-pity had made me stop talking to people I needed to talk to, and after enough time passed I stopped wanting to. Didn't miss it at all.

I looked up from my feet in time to see the sign from the Coffee Cup Inn. "Home of the 10 cent refill!" A long time ago, I'd kept the cups full there. It opened at 5:30, even though the regulars never showed up before 6:00.

They would never recognize me now after the years. A solitary man sat hunched over the coffee bar in a flat cap as if in granite, still save for the flicking of his cigarette. My father had flicked his Lucky Strikes like that. I blinked and my quick steps took me past the picture window and into the present.

I purposely walked the long way around my old high school, although I knew better. I had left this town to escape, full of young angst and looking for the ever-pervasive freedom that every teenager thinks cannot exist in one's hometown. A few kids walked opposite the street from me..... avoiding my eye contact; obviously repressed by the town and anyone over the age of thirty.

I sighed and took out of my backpack the only remnant of my teenage years: Camel Reds. Carrie, the cheerleader, would smoke them with me after school, with her perfume and spangle earrings. That was the only way she would associate with me, was to bum cigarettes. She got knocked up junior year. I stifled a laugh and a rattle sounded in my lungs. I thought of tiny little cheerleaders with bangle earrings in diapers.

Almost as though against its will, the sun was starting to warm the air a little. My dad would be up and getting ready to go out the door. He never ate breakfast or showered, just woke up, brushed his teeth, washed his face, grabbed his lunch from the fridge, and drove out to the plant. Only a few more years until he'd retire. I always used to feel sorry for him as a kid, getting up in the dark in the middle of winter while the rest of us turned over in our warm beds and went back to sleep. While my mother slept in until 9 or 10, then sat around drinking instant coffee and smoking cigarettes all day. We learned to make our own cereal before getting on the school bus.

I threw my cigarette down a sewer grate at the edge of the townhouse development where my parents lived, and looked up to see my dad's white Aries K car heading toward me on its way out of the parking lot.
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Old 12-11-2004, 02:45 PM   #5
joppa.gal
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It painted the horizon like a glimmer of warm sunshine promising to bring winter's first thaw. The sight was just as magnificent as I had imagined it, but somehow equally dispiriting, like realizing the anticlimactic end of of an exhaustive journey. There were no trumpets. There was no limosine. And I didn't see a fresh golden sunrise beckoning me home. Just a mile and a half stretch of forgotten, shadowed highway littered with smog-spewing factories and warehouses in disrepair.

As I turned my feet in the direction of town, I began to question why I felt the need to come back.

The threat of tears made my eyes ache. Shut up, shut up I made my footsteps say. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I'd done enough of that before I decided on this return trip. Anger and self-pity had made me stop talking to people I needed to talk to, and after enough time passed I stopped wanting to. Didn't miss it at all.

I looked up from my feet in time to see the sign from the Coffee Cup Inn. "Home of the 10 cent refill!" A long time ago, I'd kept the cups full there. It opened at 5:30, even though the regulars never showed up before 6:00.

They would never recognize me now after the years. A solitary man sat hunched over the coffee bar in a flat cap as if in granite, still save for the flicking of his cigarette. My father had flicked his Lucky Strikes like that. I blinked and my quick steps took me past the picture window and into the present.

I purposely walked the long way around my old high school, although I knew better. I had left this town to escape, full of young angst and looking for the ever-pervasive freedom that every teenager thinks cannot exist in one's hometown. A few kids walked opposite the street from me..... avoiding my eye contact; obviously repressed by the town and anyone over the age of thirty.

I sighed and took out of my backpack the only remnant of my teenage years: Camel Reds. Carrie, the cheerleader, would smoke them with me after school, with her perfume and spangle earrings. That was the only way she would associate with me, was to bum cigarettes. She got knocked up junior year. I stifled a laugh and a rattle sounded in my lungs. I thought of tiny little cheerleaders with bangle earrings in diapers.

Almost as though against its will, the sun was starting to warm the air a little. My dad would be up and getting ready to go out the door. He never ate breakfast or showered, just woke up, brushed his teeth, washed his face, grabbed his lunch from the fridge, and drove out to the plant. Only a few more years until he'd retire. I always used to feel sorry for him as a kid, getting up in the dark in the middle of winter while the rest of us turned over in our warm beds and went back to sleep. While my mother slept in until 9 or 10, then sat around drinking instant coffee and smoking cigarettes all day. We learned to make our own cereal before getting on the school bus.

I threw my cigarette down a sewer grate at the edge of the townhouse development where my parents lived, and looked up to see my dad's white Aries K car heading toward me on its way out of the parking lot.

It was nice to hear a familiar muffler. It seemed that the muffler on my dad's car was always bed. As a kid I used to think that it made the car sound like a hotshot. As a teen I was mortified when my dad would pick me up. Now it just made me feel warm.

I got in the passenger side and poked in the puffy fabric that hung down from the ceiling. It stuck for a few seconds and then kissed the top of my head again.

"How is mom, Dad?"

He grunted. She was probably at home making dinner, the special dinner since I was there.

The cheapest beefsteak you could buy at the supermarker, but marinated a day in soy sauce and worscheshire to offset the flavor. Oh, and don't forget the massacre pounding it would take from the metal tenderizer to soften it up.Mom could do wonders with cheap beef. If you didn't look at what you were eating, you might think you were in a resteraunt. Open your eyes and it was all over.
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Old 12-11-2004, 08:14 PM   #6
trisherina
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It painted the horizon like a glimmer of warm sunshine promising to bring winter's first thaw. The sight was just as magnificent as I had imagined it, but somehow equally dispiriting, like realizing the anticlimactic end of of an exhaustive journey. There were no trumpets. There was no limosine. And I didn't see a fresh golden sunrise beckoning me home. Just a mile and a half stretch of forgotten, shadowed highway littered with smog-spewing factories and warehouses in disrepair.

As I turned my feet in the direction of town, I began to question why I felt the need to come back.

The threat of tears made my eyes ache. Shut up, shut up I made my footsteps say. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I'd done enough of that before I decided on this return trip. Anger and self-pity had made me stop talking to people I needed to talk to, and after enough time passed I stopped wanting to. Didn't miss it at all.

I looked up from my feet in time to see the sign from the Coffee Cup Inn. "Home of the 10 cent refill!" A long time ago, I'd kept the cups full there. It opened at 5:30, even though the regulars never showed up before 6:00.

They would never recognize me now after the years. A solitary man sat hunched over the coffee bar in a flat cap as if in granite, still save for the flicking of his cigarette. My father had flicked his Lucky Strikes like that. I blinked and my quick steps took me past the picture window and into the present.

I purposely walked the long way around my old high school, although I knew better. I had left this town to escape, full of young angst and looking for the ever-pervasive freedom that every teenager thinks cannot exist in one's hometown. A few kids walked opposite the street from me..... avoiding my eye contact; obviously repressed by the town and anyone over the age of thirty.

I sighed and took out of my backpack the only remnant of my teenage years: Camel Reds. Carrie, the cheerleader, would smoke them with me after school, with her perfume and spangle earrings. That was the only way she would associate with me, was to bum cigarettes. She got knocked up junior year. I stifled a laugh and a rattle sounded in my lungs. I thought of tiny little cheerleaders with bangle earrings in diapers.

Almost as though against its will, the sun was starting to warm the air a little. My dad would be up and getting ready to go out the door. He never ate breakfast or showered, just woke up, brushed his teeth, washed his face, grabbed his lunch from the fridge, and drove out to the plant. Only a few more years until he'd retire. I always used to feel sorry for him as a kid, getting up in the dark in the middle of winter while the rest of us turned over in our warm beds and went back to sleep. While my mother slept in until 9 or 10, then sat around drinking instant coffee and smoking cigarettes all day. We learned to make our own cereal before getting on the school bus.

I threw my cigarette down a sewer grate at the edge of the townhouse development where my parents lived, and looked up to see my dad's white Aries K car heading toward me on its way out of the parking lot.

It was nice to hear a familiar muffler. It seemed that the muffler on my dad's car was always bed. As a kid I used to think that it made the car sound like a hotshot. As a teen I was mortified when my dad would pick me up. Now it just made me feel warm.

I got in the passenger side and poked in the puffy fabric that hung down from the ceiling. It stuck for a few seconds and then kissed the top of my head again.

"How is mom, Dad?"

He grunted. She was probably at home making dinner, the special dinner since I was there.

The cheapest beefsteak you could buy at the supermarker, but marinated a day in soy sauce and worscheshire to offset the flavor. Oh, and don't forget the massacre pounding it would take from the metal tenderizer to soften it up.Mom could do wonders with cheap beef. If you didn't look at what you were eating, you might think you were in a resteraunt. Open your eyes and it was all over.

Why Mom liked to make dinner at breakfast time was a mystery to all who knew her, but I'm just telling you the facts.
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Because how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. -- Annie Dillard
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Old 12-12-2004, 02:31 PM   #7
joppa.gal
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It painted the horizon like a glimmer of warm sunshine promising to bring winter's first thaw. The sight was just as magnificent as I had imagined it, but somehow equally dispiriting, like realizing the anticlimactic end of of an exhaustive journey. There were no trumpets. There was no limosine. And I didn't see a fresh golden sunrise beckoning me home. Just a mile and a half stretch of forgotten, shadowed highway littered with smog-spewing factories and warehouses in disrepair.

As I turned my feet in the direction of town, I began to question why I felt the need to come back.

The threat of tears made my eyes ache. Shut up, shut up I made my footsteps say. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I'd done enough of that before I decided on this return trip. Anger and self-pity had made me stop talking to people I needed to talk to, and after enough time passed I stopped wanting to. Didn't miss it at all.

I looked up from my feet in time to see the sign from the Coffee Cup Inn. "Home of the 10 cent refill!" A long time ago, I'd kept the cups full there. It opened at 5:30, even though the regulars never showed up before 6:00.

They would never recognize me now after the years. A solitary man sat hunched over the coffee bar in a flat cap as if in granite, still save for the flicking of his cigarette. My father had flicked his Lucky Strikes like that. I blinked and my quick steps took me past the picture window and into the present.

I purposely walked the long way around my old high school, although I knew better. I had left this town to escape, full of young angst and looking for the ever-pervasive freedom that every teenager thinks cannot exist in one's hometown. A few kids walked opposite the street from me..... avoiding my eye contact; obviously repressed by the town and anyone over the age of thirty.

I sighed and took out of my backpack the only remnant of my teenage years: Camel Reds. Carrie, the cheerleader, would smoke them with me after school, with her perfume and spangle earrings. That was the only way she would associate with me, was to bum cigarettes. She got knocked up junior year. I stifled a laugh and a rattle sounded in my lungs. I thought of tiny little cheerleaders with bangle earrings in diapers.

Almost as though against its will, the sun was starting to warm the air a little. My dad would be up and getting ready to go out the door. He never ate breakfast or showered, just woke up, brushed his teeth, washed his face, grabbed his lunch from the fridge, and drove out to the plant. Only a few more years until he'd retire. I always used to feel sorry for him as a kid, getting up in the dark in the middle of winter while the rest of us turned over in our warm beds and went back to sleep. While my mother slept in until 9 or 10, then sat around drinking instant coffee and smoking cigarettes all day. We learned to make our own cereal before getting on the school bus.

I threw my cigarette down a sewer grate at the edge of the townhouse development where my parents lived, and looked up to see my dad's white Aries K car heading toward me on its way out of the parking lot.

It was nice to hear a familiar muffler. It seemed that the muffler on my dad's car was always bed. As a kid I used to think that it made the car sound like a hotshot. As a teen I was mortified when my dad would pick me up. Now it just made me feel warm.

I got in the passenger side and poked in the puffy fabric that hung down from the ceiling. It stuck for a few seconds and then kissed the top of my head again.

"How is mom, Dad?"

He grunted. She was probably at home making dinner, the special dinner since I was there.

The cheapest beefsteak you could buy at the supermarker, but marinated a day in soy sauce and worscheshire to offset the flavor. Oh, and don't forget the massacre pounding it would take from the metal tenderizer to soften it up.Mom could do wonders with cheap beef. If you didn't look at what you were eating, you might think you were in a resteraunt. Open your eyes and it was all over.

Why Mom liked to make dinner at breakfast time was a mystery to all who knew her, but I'm just telling you the facts.

I think it was because she stayed up all night on those message boards. Time probably was lost to her. I remember back when dial-up was all there was, and she would be on there all night. She would wake me up periodically with her wheezy smoker's laugh (kind of a whistle- hacking rattle). I think in her mind breakfast was dinner and daytime was the time to sleep in.

Mom was the inspiration for me to leave home and get and education and a job.
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