So Many Friends
Patterson leaned out a little over the ledge of the subway platform--still no sign of the 1 train. He stepped back and gave the old woman standing nearby an ambiguous smile and then quickly turned away. He pushed his hands further into the deep pockets of his trench coat and heaved a small sigh.
Looking down, he noticed his leg was shaking up and down. He was always doing that. He often thought he should take up smoking to calm his restless nerves, but somehow something wouldn't let him.
The world moves so quick underneath your feet and it sneakily carries you with it. You were a boy, then you were a teenager, then you're expected to pay taxes and work a "steady" job. Patterson wonder if such a thing existed. He had an affinity for the eccentricities that he believed were the hallmarks of an artist.
He was not sure what he was. He constantly and irresponsibly ping-ponged between a bizarre and unreasonable self-loathing and somewhat pretentious over-confidence. Most people that knew him agreed the he was a genuinely good person and they valued his friendship if they could claim it, but Patterson was never to know this. He had an unhealthy tendency to assume the worst of himself and the best of those he took a liking to. This had caused him a lot of grief and moments of embarassed cringing.
Patterson felt an eerie breeze whisper across the platform and he saw the light from the 1 train. He looked at his phone for the time--underground, no signal.
S
Looking down, he noticed his leg was shaking up and down. He was always doing that. He often thought he should take up smoking to calm his restless nerves, but somehow something wouldn't let him.
The world moves so quick underneath your feet and it sneakily carries you with it. You were a boy, then you were a teenager, then you're expected to pay taxes and work a "steady" job. Patterson wonder if such a thing existed. He had an affinity for the eccentricities that he believed were the hallmarks of an artist.
He was not sure what he was. He constantly and irresponsibly ping-ponged between a bizarre and unreasonable self-loathing and somewhat pretentious over-confidence. Most people that knew him agreed the he was a genuinely good person and they valued his friendship if they could claim it, but Patterson was never to know this. He had an unhealthy tendency to assume the worst of himself and the best of those he took a liking to. This had caused him a lot of grief and moments of embarassed cringing.
Patterson felt an eerie breeze whisper across the platform and he saw the light from the 1 train. He looked at his phone for the time--underground, no signal.
S
posted by Lord Horatio at 6:59 PM
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