Wednesday, March 30, 2005

It's Pronounced "Lau-REN"

Well, it's spring, and you know what that means... Jocks with confused looks on their faces, stumbling down the sidewalk in basketball sneakers, mesh shorts, and sleveless t-shirts (it really isn't a T-shirt, then, is it?) with their cellphone in their ear and a Nike backpack hanging like a box across their shoulders, their other hand not quite falling to their side as the massive, growth-stunting, workout sessions have caused an unnatural muscle grown, which prevents them from putting their arms down.

Beside him you will invariably see the fratboy, wearing his American Eagle Doc-Marten-look-alike shoes, distressed in his best vintage Aeropostale bootcut, lowrise, jeans, and wearing a neon green Hollister polo with the "top" "popped," and offsetting white Hollister polo is underneath, it to has its "top" "popped." A cell phone is wedged precariously between one hand and ear, while the other ear sports a bright white iPod earbud, its sister dangling from the cord where it crosses his chest to the teardrop-shaped bookbag that everyone has, yet is widely impractical. He wears that necklace all italian men seem to own, the silver one that looks like a tennis bracelet, the links somewhat reminiscent of a chain, yet flattened and polished so you can see his sweat-stricken, hairgel-covered forhead. A LIVESTRONG wristband sits on his wrist, not because he knows someone with cancer, perhaps he doesn't even know what the LAF is, and the same blank quizzical stare his neckless friend sports finds a comfortable home on his five-o'clock-shadowed face while he simultaneously shifts from the urban beats of the iPod to the walking steroid, to the "cell" to "holla" at his "dawgs." A car drives by, one with a muffler that could deafen anyone within miles, pimped out with so much ice the owner didn't have enough to finish painting the primer-colored spoiler--designed to keep the tiny toyota on the ground, yet at the same time look "fly." "What up playa'!" he yells to the occupants of the offense-on-wheels, "dude i got so wasted last night" is of course their reply. They converse of bitches, they converse of 'hoes. Suddenly the heart-tremoring thuds from the driver's over-sized woofers are momentarily overcome by the horns of the people behind him, and it is time for him to yell "peace, I'm out bro'."

So pull out your nextel, and two-way your favorite bitch. Where you at dog? The whole city behind us?

You just have to love spring...

2 comments:

Indigo said...

I'm happy to see you're starting to use capitalization. :)

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