Blankets

So there I was, walking home from work, snowflakes falling sporadically from the black sky like dandruff being lightly brushed from God’s shoulder, and I thought to myself, “I hate the cold.”

It’s the truth. There is nothing I like about the cold. I guess I like wearing hoodies, those are always fun, sweaters with a hood, a rip roaring good time, but other than that there is not much else that really gets me going when it is cold. Walking to the bus stop with the jack frost’s farts freezing my nose at the tip first, then slowly making it’s way, the freezes’ way, through my nose, to my brain, where all of a sudden all I can think about is how the temperature is not even close to breaking the 32 degree mark.

And it makes me want to watch a movie with someone, hold someone warm next to me, as we watch Employee of the Month, a comedy that is trying to be a romantic-comedy, and even though it was poorly played, and even though I fell asleep for a good portion of the movie and still knew exactly what was going to happen, I still got that feeling, that lonely feeling, when he got the girl, and I squeezed my blanket tight, but it wasn’t warm, not human warm, it was blanket warm. Blankets are whores. They sleep with anyone.

So, LA is where I will end this coldness. In three or four months, however far may is away from now, I will move to LA, sun, smog, and warm. Hoodies will still be worn, but just to be cool, not for actual usefulness, and that will be the only thing that will change. Because when I watch a bad comedy that is supposed to have a romantic twist at night in whatever room I am in, in whatever apartment, I will still think my blanket is a whore, willing and wanting to sleep with whoever climbs into my bed.

~ by kevinthomas on January 31, 2007.