Monday, 9:35pm
You spoke to me from afar. From 1 and a half blocks away, to be exact. I was all cozy and warm, yet you suddenly wormed your way inside of my head from out of nowhere.
It was like in Donnie Darko, as if my Solar Plexus Chakra trailed out of my stomach, out the apartment door, down the stairs, and up Franklin Avenue, showing me where to find you.
I got dressed. I slipped my Vans on, put on my blue coat, and pulled the hood up over my head. My scalp felt all tingly and weird because I just had my hair cut, but that didn’t phase me. You had me in the palm of your hand, and not even a good scalp tingling sensation was going to deter me from making you mine.
I walked up Franklin like a zombie. A transient asked me for change, but alls I could do was grunt, keep looking ahead, and walk on forward. The neon glow of your shop’s sign shined brilliantly. It was all I could look at as I stood waiting to cross the street in front of the perpetually vandalized Cotty Lowry sign. You would soon be mine.
I crossed the street and walked through the door, bumping shoulders with a nice young lady on her way out. I snapped out of my trance enough to apologize, she said “oh no it was my fault!” and then realized this was no time for dilly dallying. Back into my trance I went. Yet again it was as if I was underwater looking up at the surface to see the sun shining brightly, the majestic big ball of fire it is, behind a buoyant chockit malt.
Up to the counter I went. I pulled my hood off of my head, felt another new haircut scalp tingle and said 1 chockit malt please, and paid for you. Divine creation commenced.
“Would you like whipped cream on this, sir?” Hell no I would not. I didn’t want anything more to come between us. Usually whipped cream is more than welcome, but with you it would only be one more thing to get out of the way.
One minute and 37 seconds later, there you were in my hands. You were so thick that the spoon your creator stuck in you remained motionless as I carried you home.
Every spoonful and sip of you was better than the last. You coated my mouf with a cold, yet somehow warm layer of chocolaty bliss. Such comfort. Frank reached his paw up at you and all I could do was make a scary face and hiss at him to protect you, sending him scurrying off to his food dish and putting him in his place.
The bottom of your cup appeared all too soon and I gave it a few taps to make sure I could ingest every last drop of you. Still somewhat conscious, I heard the empty cup being set upon my desk and felt my arms fall to my side. There I sat like Gumby in my office chair with the best malt hangover ever, knowing that someday soon you will meet my lips once again… but not soon enough.
Someday…
