Sunday afternoon has become a great and unfortunately short-lived tradition with my adorable ex-lover James. We see an early movie, eat food and hike around by the industrial river-front in St. Anthony Main. One thing James and I always accomplished with much grander and sophistication was enjoying quite inventive and exciting dates, between all of the petty squabbles and whatnot. In the wake of this romance and the recent revival of friendliness due in part to my leaving and desiring not such a sour note, we have commenced one of our best traditions, as previously stated, of watching a movie together amongst other things. Friendship with an ex has its ups and downs, its emotional pulls and exaustions, but to elaborate no further, it is fruitful beyond a doubt. Here is a glimmer of such events:
After Juicy Lucy's and a package of epically apropriate gifts from James to myself, he and I head to the river and find a particularly apocalyptic looking spot.
The beers come out as well as James' smug-as-fuck grin (don't be fooled, this is a near permanent feature).
I poured one out for my homies, and when I say poured one out, I mean accidentally kicked my beer over acting like a buffoon on a rock.
James pours out one for his homies, and when I say for his homies, I mean because he had a tummy ache and didn't want to finish it.
James thinks making that "beer mug" with his fingers is suave and cool. Who's the buffoon now?
After a bit of sitting, James got sqirrely.
This is the same creep that once left a message for me after a week of dating saying "Woman, how'm I gonna fill you wif babies if you don't answer yer phone?"
Post-apocalyptic grungy little hippie child, as my dear friend Livia described me in this photo.
This is one dashing kid any little birdy should consider herself lucky to have (and a fabulous poet to boot).
After loitering at the river-front, our tradition lends itself to the local theatre, the St. Anthony Main. Quiet Lovely.
And now for good measure . . .
A sprawling abandoned parking lot, typical to the midwest. How I will miss.