Thursday, 22 December 2011

Do you touch walls on which "WET PAINT" signs are strung up?

I do, as often as possible, not to get the feeling of paint pressed deeply onto my palms but to see if it’s the truth, you know to conform that it is wet.
I met a kid, or a guy who looked like a kid, the other day, he walked into the tattoo parlour I work in. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, and the dark circles that underlined his eyes proved this point.
Looking at him I got a bit worried, he didn’t look homeless but he didn’t look healthy. “Kid you ok?” I asked, he never answered but handed me about sixty six dollars in cash and held out his arm and said:
“I want a tattoo, this arm on this wrist …” his arms were slightly dirty, as if he had been sleeping in dirt, I buried my brow in frustration.
“Kid how old are you?”
It’s mandatory to ask their age, anyone younger than 18 cannot have a tattoo, I mean I don’t want no more federal cops running along my ass.
The guy held out his ID and I got a good look at it, the birth year clearly pointed out a not-so-obvious fact, he was 19.
I scratched my head and looked at him; he looked 15 possibly 16.
“Yeah sure come this way…” I muttered and walked into my room. I tend not to argue too much, plus it had been a rough day for me:
I woke up late for work…that night was really tough the cops barged into my room and they accused me of having and selling drugs. It didn’t take me long to set them straight, that lasted half the night and but the time I was finally headed to bed the beautiful sun was painting the sky a pink and blue. I rushed which meant no breakfast or coffee and on top of it all I learned that everyone in my building was going to be evicted because apparently it didn’t meet the health standards. Now the only choice I really have is to go to New Jersey to stay with my mother.
Anyways back to the story about the guy. He asked for something simple, but strange, it was a circle with an x through it, it kind of looked like a railroad crossing sign but not quite.
“What’s with the Tat sir?” He grinned and looked at me, It made the aura of the room very…uneasy.
“Have you heard of him?”
“Him?” I asked focusing deeply on my work; the music is usually deadly, ear drum bursting loud but oddly enough today it was almost muted, which makes me wonder if Kendra is taking a nap again.
“Him, the one I’m running from…” I moved the blond hair from my face and looked up.
“Who’s him?”
The man didn’t say anything after that, I asked about twice more the same question ‘who’s him?’ but without a response, it was annoying as hell and within half an hour he was ready to leave.
“Hey are these walls really wet?” he asked.
I flipped the book I was reading and laughed holding my lime green hand up I smiled brightly. “Nawh not at all” The man looked at me oddly.
“If you touch the walls that have ‘wet paint’ on them you must not be very trusting” I looked at him, my smile faded as he left. Could it be true, do I not have enough trust?
Kendra told me to leave early to get my stuff, so I did but the only problem is…I don’t have a lot. I packed my clothes and toothbrush and, somehow, managed to sell my piece of shit TV for $200.
So I guess it’s my turn to give my mother a call, which almost makes me sick to the stomach the fact I have to call her. At the same time I guess it is true it’s a two way street, so I’ll go dial her up and hopefully find a good job in New Jersey, you’re probably wondering: ‘why not find a new place in New york?’
I don’t know, this city and the people in it are really pissing me off.

Don't be surprised if you dont hear from me for awhile....

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