roomies

“Uh, Will?”

I opened my eyes groggily confronting an equally disheveled reflection of myself in the mirror. I had left the sink on and my toothbrush was in the works of reenacting the sinking of the Titanic. Taking one final look in the mirror I saw a lone eyedookie clinging to my eyelash. While splashing that cold, invigorating Indiana tap water onto my face I rotated my neck to face my more pudgier roommate of four days.

“Uh Will?”

I continued staring at him, not saying a word. If your mornings are going to blow why not try to spice things up once in a while?

“Hey uh Will you there?”

I really didn’t know what I wanted to do. Should I respond verbally? Or parley with his face with the “twins” (raises fists): Andrew Jackson and Jamal.

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?” He playfully knock-knocked against the mirror to, I guess, visually emphasize his point in the most visually upsetting way ever.

“C’mon Will I’m sorry for intruding but can you please respond?”

Wow I hated his impeccable politeness and courteous disposition. Always quick with a “please” or “thank you” his inability to be an asshole pissed me quite the fuck off frankly. I stirred the twins a bit, Jamal likes his beauty rest.

I muted my roommate, watching his mouth move up and down I was pretty sure if I heard one more ‘excuse me’ I’d suffer an aneurysm and our health insurance coverage didn’t include Indiana. Shit I don’t even think I have health insurance period.

As I readied myself to throw it down UFC style I had a sudden change of heart. He DID bring the microwave, TV, and fridge. So… ehhhh.
“Yeah Ryan, whats poppin?”

“Ho-hum looks like the hens are in the coops after all!”

Wtf.

“Are you done using the sink?”

“Yeah sure enjoy yo’self.”

I gathered my things and was about to relinquish my claim upon the sink when Ryan chirped up once more

“Hey Will?”

Deep sigh. “Yep Ryan?”

“You forgot your underwear again nude-a-rino!!!!”

And that was when mah fist… stopped right in his face

 

The Tragedy of Alicia Sacramone

Quite a girl isn’t she? Well if you were watching the team women’s gymnastics in the 2008 olympics you would’ve witnessed one of the saddest tragedies in recent memory.

Even before the olympics began, people buzzed about the rivalry between the Americans and the Chinese. Even though the U.S. has taken the gold for the past few olympics, this year China assembled a dynamic new team. It was believed to be the greatest battle of gymnasts since the U.S. and Soviet days.

Fast forward to the event. After excellent performances by the Americans, and subsequent flawless performances by the Chinese, the score was almost even with the Chinese with a hair above the Americans.

The second to last event for the Americans was balance beam. Alicia was first to go on the balance beam. The balance beam was one of Alicia’s best events and she had proved her consistancy in this event in the trials and there was no doubt she was gonna give the Americans the head start they needed for their last event.

“Alicia typically has an very aggresive style, just watched her warm up.  She was attacking the beam looked extremely confident and right off the top she’ll mount the beam with a difficult mount and you can typically get an idea of how she’s feeling from that first skill

The three Americans need to be great to pass China”

Her reaction immediately after the fall

As she mounted the beam, the announcers went quiet. She fell. Shawn Johnson and Nastia Liukin tried to hold it together. It would, however, not be enough. Sacramone fell again during the floor exercise and a demoralized Nastia and Shawn messed up on their routine.

Alicia knew in her mind that she was to blame for the women’s losing the gold to the Chinese. After years and years of landing the same mount on that same balance beam, she missed it when it counted most. To make it worse, she let her whole team down when she is the one that is supposed to be the experienced one and the most consistent. That’s without mentioning that all the folks back home and everyone in the U.S. are watching and knowing that she messed it up for the country.

After the medal ceremony, when they interviewed the team, Alicia stood in the back, hiding behind Nastia’s head, trying to avoid any questions that the reporter asked.

Now I don’t think she was to blame for the loss. But I can tell by her expressions she believed she lost it for the U.S. It was really sad seeing someone go through the humiliation. How sad is it to see someone work really hard for something and not reach their goal because of an uncontrollable force? Do you know of anyone, famous or not, who this has happened to?

 

Henry and Manny’s Most Excellent Adventure (pt. 1)

Manny coughed, blinked, and coughed again. Turning his head to face the drivers side he initiated the mental clockwork needed in order to formulate and enunciate his intended thoughts. Crinkling his nose as he tried to lift the hazy veil from his eyes words began to formulate in-between his vision. Words in bright neon colors and fuzzywuzzy textures. Words such as “penis” and “zebra cum”, Manny couldn’t help but chuckle at this parade of prepubescent potty humor but was again seized immediately with a sense of purpose, shook his head clear and whispered, “Dude”.

Henry muttered “Yeah man?”

“How fast are we going Hen?”

“I don’t know man my spaghetti-o-meter is busted”

Henry raising a finger from the steering wheel pointed to the center of the dashboard where in its center where a speedometer SHOULD have been was a can of spaghetti-o’s with a kitchen timer in it. As Henry said it was broken, the meat sauce was leaking out.

“Hen everytime I try to stare at a pebble on the floor it like… disappears that-a-way” Manny pointed towards the rear of the car.

“Hen it like disappears into… the past man”

“Man thats insane, lemme see”

Henry craned his head outside the window, as he tried to focus his vision onto specific pebbles the car slowly veered to the left. Moments later an explosion rocked the fender of the small burgundy Toyota, and a flash of heat washed over Henry’s neck but Henry didn’t notice. The police would later find the mangled wreckage smoldering by the side of the turnpike the next morning. The victims? Two brothers, blonde haired, with immaculate teeth, and contrasting life aspirations. The driver, an associate of Henry and Manny was found with a look of bored pessimism. CSI detectives are almost 99% sure in their assumptions that the drivers last words were “Goddamn it Henry.” The chubbier sibling shat himself.

Henry brang his head back into the car and readjusted his rearview mirror just as the flames were beginning to fade off into the distance. Shaking his head in disbelief with palms quaking in anxiety all Henry could muster was a bemoaned, “O man I think you’re right Manny”.

Manny trying to shove himself in the glove compartment peeked out from the bottom of the passenger’s seat, “Hen I think, we’re traveling…” Manny looking around and cupping his mouth hoarsely whispered, “…into the future…”

“OHMANOHMANOHMANOHMANOHMAN” Henry was… uh, he uhm… fuck I don’t know how to describe it, Henry was freaking out.

“Let’s make sure Manny, we can’t be traveling into the fu-, I mean it’s impossible right we don’t have the uh flux capacitor and Michael J. Fox isn’t in the car with us so we can’t man!”

Henry turned to the back of the car, “Ying are we time traveling?!” The underaged Chinese gymnast who Henry and Manny had accidentally kidnapped on a surprise trip to Shanghai (“Henry and Manny’s Most Excellent Shanghai Shenanigans” will be coming soon!) barely stirred as her snoring (similar to that of an adult elephant walrus) curtly answered Henry’s question.

“Leu man can ya tell if we’re tearing through the time-space continuum man?”

Leu sat stock still twiddling his thumbs as he constantly glanced at his watch muttering the words “momma gon kill me, momma gon kill me, momma gon kill me…”. Just then Leu’s cell phone rang, it was his momma. In a flurry of panic he tossed the phone across the back seat, smacking Ying’s ass. Probably in response to all the beatings she received at the hands from her Chinese gymnast coaches for not “sticking her landing”, or to be more realistic “sticking her rranding” she instinctively pommel horsed the living shit out of Leu’s sternum.

She then flailed for a bit in her seat, shouted something unintelligible and immeidately fell back into her deep sleep. Leu in utter dogshit disbelief stared at the sleeping minor and keeled over.

Henry slowly turned his head back to its normal position and let out a long sigh. Manny noticing this unusual display of calmness from his usually neurotic buddy asked “Hen how can you NOT be freakin about this shet?!”

At the same moment the biggest fuck bomb just detonated in Henry’s mind.

“Huh what’d you say man?”

“Ok Hen what about if ya know we slow down, maybe we could slip out of hyperspace and fucking exit through a stargate and fucking ask Scotty to beam us up?”

“No Manny man you’re such a bobo head, if we slow down we’ll just crash into our “PAST” selves.”

Manny’s eyes went wide with enlightenment and his mouth hung open, “Holy shit… you’re fucking RIGHT man. Shit I’m such an idiot, how are we gonna do this Hen?!”

Henry with a mysterious newfound sense of confidence replied “Manny I’m going to need some floss, ketchup, and 72 cents in pennies. I GOTS a plan man.”

The camera begins to zoom into Henry’s face slowly, in the background a subtle yet authoritative hiphop beat begins to escalate in volume. In fact I think I hear some T-Pain on that shit, hellz yeah. The camera slowly begins to fade as this episode slowly concludess…

“Wait Hen we don’t have any of that shit”

“OhFuck.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

17B

17B

How ya doing Miss Thang? I see you relaxing, reclining, riding that gulf stream breeze aboard your 747, please. I can’t help but stare at the back of your head, at your mouse brown hair gleaming amber against the penetrating sun’s rays. You squint in defense, sun bothering you Miss Thang I’ll gladly close the blinds for you. Fat person in the aisle seat though, stuck. You order a bloody mary from the stewardess and all I can keep thinking about is ordering up a heavy shot of you, hold the ice I like my Mary’s hot. Is that your name Miss Thang? Mary, Elizabeth, Jasmine, Madame Curie? No matter all I can really do is stare from afar and hope my drool doesn’t stain my good pants. Why you keep looking back Miss Thang? Stealing peeks at me, or the other lovestruck saps? What was that Miss Thang? Tossing me a wink while I was turning my head, but I caught ya from the side of my vision. Eyelashes fluttering and mischief playing on those lips. As I walk past your aisle on the way to beat out the 4 toddlers for the lavatory. You stuck out your leg a bit, black heels embracing your hazelnut skin. You didn’t even look up at me, not even a “hi”? Playing hard to get, I like. Striding back I take a look at your seat number, mmm 17B. Walking past I can’t help but smell you. Reminding me of a field of flowers on a summer day is what you might want a smooth playa to say, but I ain’t no such thang. All I can do is just go “guffawbleah”. And try to play it off as its Chinese. You laugh though and this time you be glancing at me from the refuge of your seat. I can’t help but feel a little cocky, a little confident. Then as I proceed to buckle my seat, I notice I gots a piece of toilet paper stuck in my fly. To think we was making progress. To think how we so high we can kiss the sky, get married, laugh and love. Give me something Miss Thang. Cap’n says we landing in a few, and I’m set on committing right now. Wheels landing, hearts still soaring, lets not waste this opportunity. Leaving me Miss Thang? For realz? Don’t leave now, how bout coffee at the baggage claim? I thought you were having a good time, this mile-high version of redlight/greenlight, ‘cept we been stuck on yellow for some time. Air traffic control be telling you no? Have a go, let’s take a ride cause you’ve already flown off with my love Miss Thang in seat seventayne-B.

- Leupe

 

The Twilight Zone

Lives can be turned around by the smallest of decisions and tonight, when my friend Mr. Chu and I agreed to accompany two of our friends to the midnight release of “Breaking Dawn” (The Twilight Series) I sincerely believe our lives have been warped.

I have been to two Star Wars Movie premiers at midnight (donning my Jedi robes nonetheless), I have stood in line for hours for the midnight release of Halo 3, and I have snuck into many a Marvel movie in my time, but let me tell you the sheer fervor of these crazed women shook me to my very core.

You would think that a 300 square foot acre area packed with over 500 women would smell something like estrogen-infused bliss… but the aroma of sweaty armpits and reeking puberty resonated above all. There were no- how shall I put this- Monroes in attendance, no no, these women were straight from the Hills have Eyes and Can Read epoch. Star Wars fans are classy, you either have a Storm Trooper outfit on or you rock the Jedi hood. But these literary devourers had fake vampire teeth and torn prom dresses, painted blood and shiny eyelashes, demonic nail designs and worst of all… way too much hosiery.

As my colleague and I strode down the lineup of precarious women we noticed two of our former schoolmates in attendance; we did our manly duty and greeted them but before we realized they had sprung up from their prone positions and raced down the line, apparently it started to move. They were very quick in moving forward but the girls behind us were not and slowly realization started trickling in… the gap in between us and the next group of shrieking overweight Harpies was about to be closed in. Suddenly a roar unlike anything I have ever heard erupted from their mouth and a stampede tore towards me and Mr. Chu. I was willing my feet to move, to plaster myself against the wall and hope that somehow one of them would trip and cause a gigantic ball of congestion but my feet simply would not obey.

So many theories circulate about what goes through your head when you can see impending doom racing towards your mortality. Let me set it straight once and for all: you piss your goddamn pants. My feet simply were as transfixed as my conscious was in the final seconds of my humanity. But abruptly and unexpectedly, the backhand of my faithful friend Mr. Chu brushed against my sternum and sent me sprawling into safety moments before my life escaped.

God bless the Chinese.

 

Chris

As you may or may not know, the mastermind of our blog, CStair , has left for a religious pilgrimage…. sort of. The details are hazy to even the SConnoisseurs but we know that it was planned months in advance and that he will not be able to contribute to the blog during this period.

He will have limited blog access for the next year or so, so this may very well be the death of the blog. The rest of us will have a tough time making up for Chris’s insightful and humorous blog posts. This, however, does not mean we plan to abandon the blog. We will post diligently and hope you continue to read us.

 

Randy Pausch Dies at 47

It’s a rare occurrence in this life of ours that we have the opportunity to meet an individual who has lived life the way he’s want to live it. And it’s even rarer that millions of people could meet and know someone without so much as saying one word to him.

Today, Randy Pausch, the professor from Carnegie Mellon whose “Last Lecture” became an internet and non-fiction sensation died from the terminal Pancreatic cancer he was diagnosed with nearly two years ago.

When my good friend showed me the news and I read the article, I felt unexplainably attached to him, something that was intricately more attuned then just my current ties to Carnegie… and my sentiments were echoed by my fellow friends who each received the news. So I began to wonder, what is it about this stranger that draws millions of people to feel as if they knew him so personally.

Growing up, I can only imagine what my future self would look like- in terms of personality, actions, dreams. When we come across someone who embodies the traits that you wish to see yourself have in the future, I think an immediate connection is drawn. And I think that is the case here.

More than being a computer sleuth and the quintessential family man we can only fawn at, Pausch was essentially just like me… just like us. He dreamt of going into space or at least a simulated zero gravity condition. He dreamt of marrying the perfect girl. He dreamt of writing an article for the World Book Encyclopedia. And most importantly, he dreamt of playing for the NFL.

He accomplished almost everything he set out to as a child (God gipped him on the NFL one) and he did it without sacrificing his personal life without sacrificing the essence of fun in his life. If you have not seen the video or read the book, I pray you please just watch the first five minutes at least, and realize who you’re looking at there, might as well be you.

The guy had class, he had wit, he lived the last year of his life the way we could only dream we can. And I think what made him special was that we all feel we can do the same now.

 

American Healthcare System

Now I’m by no means a fan of Micheal Moore and his tactics of humiliation to get a point across, but the events that unfolded last night have convinced me that something has to be done.

Last night, my sister and I prepared a pleasant dinner for my family- sans my mother, who was out of town. We prepared the traditional Korean style course— rice, kimchi, doenjang soup, fish, freshly chopped tomatoes mixed with cilantro and a tad of vinegar. We were excited that we had a chance to prepare dinner and we made more than we probably should have.

When my father came back from work, we dined peacefully in the well-lit dining room. Everyone in the room seemed relaxed… maybe a bit tired from the day’s work. We spoke about Obama’s visit to Afghanistan … well I did, my family isn’t really interested in politics.

“Obama’s time with Petraeus hasn’t changed his mind on…” I paused and ate the rest of what remained on my plate.

That’s when an acute pain stabbed into my tongue. I screamed in agony as I quickly ran from the table. My dad asked what was wrong and when I tried to answer my tongue exploded with pain. My mind was reeling from from this excruciating feeling and I raced to the bathroom to see what had happened. Though my mouth was full of Korean food, I was able to see that the bottom of my tongue (The frenulum) had caught to a bracket (braces) on the side of  my mouth.

Someone once told me that the penis was the most sensitive area in the body and I took their word for it… but I can tell you that the tongue is pretty damn sensitive. Speaking of penises, apparently the frenulum is a part on the penis.  It was my unfortunate privilege to Google frenulum and find that Google posts pictures of the results on the very top. Don’t Google it… just take my word for it.

The psychological damage from those pictures will be added onto the pending lawsuit.

What pending lawsuit you say? Well let me continue with the story where I left off.

After several failed attempts to disengage my tongue with a toothpick, I gave up and told my dad what happened.

My father rushed me to the emergency at Miami Children’s Hospital (Though I am 18, I am considered a child still by some standards so pedophiles stay away) and the whole way I was in agonizing gut-wrenching pain. You see, the tongue was stuck in such a way that I could not utter a word nor could I swallow.

The clerk in the emergency room casually asks my name and date of birth. She looks a bit bored and seems slightly amused by my panic. I ask her to hurry and let me see a doctor. She takes my info and after a few minutes I am called in. However, I’m not called in to be treated nonono I’m called in to fill out paper work. I AM DYING HERE AND THEY’RE ASKING ME TO SIGN SUPERFLUOUS PAPERS. I am calmed by security and told to wait in the reception area. Yeah… The irony of a reception area in an EMERGENCY ROOM.

After 2 hours of waiting, I am in a state of hopelessness. The searing pain had subdued and now it was just a constant throbbing stab. I sat there… drooling kimchi, rice and saliva out of my mouth in a busy reception room full of crying infants, unable to speak, unable to complain. Writing in capital letters to the hospital staff just isn’t the same as screaming at them. The drooling had caused me to be dehydrated… and I could not swallow water.  The lights in the hospital room where getting brighter, and my lips drier. They provided me a towel to drool on (thanks!) but insisted I waited to see the doctor. Thoughts started running through my head: “What if I couldn’t speak properly after this?” Oh boyyyy… I would sue them for everything they had.  My future depends on my speaking ability. “What if I couldn’t taste?” Oh I would lose my will to live.

Eventually it became clear the emergency room was the worst place to go for an emergency and my dad pulled a few strings to get the home number of my orthodontist (let the North Korean spy jokes begin). After another hour of waiting outside the orthodontists office and several mosquito bites to worsen my mood, he arrived and freed my tongue from its cage.

Today, my tongue feels very sore and my anger has burgeoned. How could the American health care system make it so that I had to wait 3 hours for a simple procedure of taking my tongue off my braces? Fortunately, my tongue is fine but If my speech or taste were impaired, I would sue in a heart beat.

Maybe Micheal Moore is right. Maybe we should all just move to Canada.

 

McDonald’s, Official Sponsor of Losers

Quite recently I was enjoying a dandy 5-hour block of day-time televisions finest programming, Burn Notice. When in the midst of a crudely improvised car implosion and another tasteless spy tip by the sitcoms main protagonist did a commercial of the up most shameless quality appear. In this fabulous portrayal of mainstream advertising/marketing propaganda and visual presentation the commercial centers on two opposing children’s soccer teams in what appears to be a tightly contested match up (Think France v. Italy excluding the repetoire of Italian cheating technique). High stakes appeared to be in play somewhere in the neighborhood of trophies, honorable accolades, and playground shit-talking rights.

As the commercial progressed both teams clashed head on repeatedly–matching each other goal-for-goal and groin stomp for eye gouge. Excitement levels rose to that of a Europcup finals match up with a brawl erupting in my kitchen and improvised chants being heralded throughout my living room. All of a sudden the opposing teams striker, weaving his way through a battalion of pre-pubescent defenders, maced the goalie and bicycle kicked his team into victory. And then with middle-finger raised high McDonald’s proceeded to disregard all preconceived notions of television standards; by portraying the winning team jeering and mocking the losers, effectively torpedoing the losing team’s passenger ferry of morale and self-esteem. Real classy McDonald’s but I guess someone needs to teach the kids that not everyone can be a winner and that losing stings worse than daddy’s case of the clap. The winning team held their trophy up high, laughed, pointed, stuck out tongues, popped Crystal, and motor boated the team MILF’s. But the losing team just-… mmm broke your heart is what they did. The PAIN those kids portrayed was just so genuine and sincere they should be up for a day-time Emmy or Tony award. It’s as if they rounded up the kids prior to the shoot and set them up for disappointment by telling them Santa was a Nazi sympathizer.

But here comes this random Brazilian dude lugging armfuls of happymeals which is horseshit in itself since if the team did have a Brazilian player they would’ve won that game easy (refer: Pele), so lo and behold with a flick of a french fry and the slurp of a small Coke the losers began to swarm and manifest themselves into a pool of ecstasy and joy. In their celebration the winning team stood stock-still gawking in utter dogshit disbelief. One of the little pricks even began to cry a little (probably the tubby one). What kind of crap is this? What areyou trying to pull here McDonald’s? What kind of garbage life lesson are you trying to instill here? To supplant inconsolable grief we can find our salvation through shoddy fast food? You’re trying to tell me that the thing more gratifying than hard-earned victory over an unassailable opponent is a Big Mac curb stomping its way through my digestive tract?

So instead of feeling sympathy or remorse for these kids you can only muster a feeling of pity for them because it’s probably little Tommy supersizing his numbuh 3 or pudgy Billy scarfing down those fries is the reason for their 2nd half letdown.

Kiss my ass Mickey D’s. Endoring this kind of hoo-hah is what gets pricks and “investigative journalists” all in your grill. But let’s just go ahead and apply this lesson into the real world McDonald’s. How about the Laker’s lockeroom after game 6 of this year’s NBA Finals? I can imagine it now……

Coach Phil: Well that was a pretty tough loss team, I know we’ve gone through alot of struggle and turmoil as a team this past season. We’ve fought hard, gave it all, and never stopped believing. The unbeatable equation for victory that we were all taught as kids, teammates, and players by our parents and coaches has just been doused in gasoline and tossed into a bonfire. And we just ended our stellar season by setting a new NBA record for sucking the most ass in a Finals series. Plus we’ve also ascertained the fact that without Shaq Kobe is basically the equivalent of a one-armed, mentally handicapped child.

Kobe: I feel ya coach

Coach Phil: Shut up Kobe. But I got good news guys I’ll treat you all to some fast food!!!

Team: Yay!

Coach Phil: We’ll stop by Wendy’s and pick up a couple Shaq-attacks-… err I mean stack attacks.
The commercial:

 

shortstory#2: “untitled”

Gary fumbled with his chopsticks as he attempted for what seemed to be the billionth time to grasp a hold of his tofu dumplings. The lacquered surface of the chopsticks greased up from the oil of the dumplings resulted in repeated failures and a resonating “click-clack” each time the dumpling slipped from his grasp. Although the various patrons of the restaurant heeded him no mind he began to flush red and slowly placed the chopsticks down on the table to give off the illusion that his hunger satiated and provided a legitimate excuse of some sorts to stop bastardizing a Chinese dining technique. He even tried to fake a small belch but even that couldn’t be accomplished as all he was able to muster up was a few grains of rice which in turn lodged themselves in his throat. He began to gag and quickly reached for his tea cup. In times of excitement we tend to forget a few significant details of our surroundings as our only focus tends to be on the approaching “danger”. He was quickly reminded of this little fact as the quite liberal amount of tea he sipped proceeded to execute a scalding blitzkrieg over his entire tongue and lips. He hurriedly spat out the tea in a flurry of saliva and tears and as he ashamedly dabbed at his swelling lips with his napkin. He recognized for the first time the recipient of his shower of spit and dandelion lentils.

“Aww, did my big baby drool all over himself again?” Grace said in a one of those cutesy-mocking tones that are normally reserved for “mother-to-son” moments, or “auntie-to-nephew” moments, or “creepy-cat-lady-to-kitty-who-just-soiled-the-carpet” moments you get the drift. But Grace, goddamn she was a whole ‘nother current to begin with. A petite girl with all the right curves in all the right places, she had the type of body that made both anorexics and fat chicks keel over in jealousy. Her jet black hair was pulled back in a bun save for a stray strange which she listlessly fingered whenever she busied herself in concentration over her studies which she did behind the cashier or dealing with indecisive tourists. On most nights he would spend in the restaurant finding himself lost in thought as he gazed dopedly at Grace bustling about her tables; oftentimes with glazed eyes, chin on palm, and a tiny eensy-weensy bead of drool making its way down his jaw.

Oh mighty Aphrodite, have you no mercy?

Gary had flunked out of Columbia University and was currently a proud student of New York City College: Queens Campus. He was majoring in Zoology. Grace on the other hand was an aspiring junior a few streets over at New York University, she was an aspiring dance whom Gary had actually seen at every one of her school venues. She actually came from quite an affluent family and really had no reason why she even held down her job at the “Lucky Wok” except for the opportunity to interact with the “community”. Community like Gary. Gary had stumbled into the “Lucky Wok” the day of his expelling from Columbia and had decided to down his sorrows with cheap imported Chinese liquor, lo mein, and a .16 mm pistol whom he nicknamed Hans. And from there he met Grace who in effect helped put his life in perspective and forced him to enroll into City College for a chance at redemption. From that night Grace had “adopted” Gary as her little brother, Gary didn’t say anything then he was both too afraid and intimidated by this angel that had appeared before him to save his life. Their relationship grew, with Gary and Grace soon divulging to each other their secrets, history, and even prom photos (Gary had to photoshop his!) Some nights their hands may have accidentally drifted into each others, some nights a conversation turned into something more intimate, and some nights when the jukebox was working a dance that may have started out with laughter and painful toe stepping changed into a slow dedicated rhythmic movement between man and woman. But every single time Gary… our poor Gary, still did nothing—said nothing. And every single one of those kinds of nights Grace left work seeming a bit… disappointed. Don’t get Gary wrong though, it’s not as if he didn’t like Grace, hell he never really understood love before Grace. He didn’t understand chick flicks or the reason for romance before Grace. He was just too afraid, of what we really don’t know. Fear of rejection, fear of losing Grace, fear of expression his emotion? Who knows, Gary never really spoke much.

But today though, today was going to be different. Today was the day that Gary Chan was going to profess his true feelings to the love of his life, Grace Park. Today was the day, yessiree roses beneath the table, tickets for Grace’s favorite Broadway musical in his wallet (Wicked for 8:30) and a heart on the brink of bursting apart with emotion. He figured now would be a good moment, the two of them alone in the restaurant, save for a hot tea kettle and Grace’s saliva stained smock. “Uhm, Grace I uh-… ahem, well I just uh…” Grace stopped dabbing at her smock with a napkin, eyes opened focused on Gary. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep through his nose she smelled softly of vanilla. “Grace I lo-… W’SUP BABE!” He opened his eyes in time to see Grace leap into the arms of some stranger. She responded with a squeal as he peppered her across the neck with kisses. They began to exchange words but Gary couldn’t hear them, his gaze drifted back down to under the table, the tickets in his left hand. He felt a hand on his shoulder—it was Grace. “That’s Julius we’re in the same German class together and he came up to me last week to tell me that he had like the longest crush on me! What do you think of him?” Gary smiled weakly but said nothing. “I know it’s been a short while we’ve been together but I think he might be the one huh-huh?” She giggled again and went back to Julius, their backs turned to him they again began to partake in their puppy love. Gary saying nothing left the restaurant neither of the pair heeding him any notice. As he walked along the discolored pavement a guest of wind billowed by, tearing through the roses until finally a petal came loose and floated down onto the road gracefully.