More Of The Same

"But like anything we try not to think of, as humans, we are very good at doing just the opposite. . ."
                                                                                                                                                                                         --John Bierly

From the driver's seat through the large windshield he could see the sky's weight falling upon itself, the clouds grew dark, darker than they were just minutes before on the road, driving fast, slicing through puddles and putting his A.D.S.C.S. (Automatic-Driver-Stability-Control System) to good use.

But as fast as he drove, he couldn't outrun the rain. Nor did he want to, he loved the rain. Few things in his life gave him the comfort, the warm-blanket feelings of a rainstorm.

It Makes Sense

                  "He's Irish, he can deal with something being wrong the rest of his life. 
                   But it doesn't mean he likes it."
                                                                                    --New Irish Celtic

As he sat in front of his laptop with the external 23 inch monitor plugged into it giving him another screen, he felt the leather of his office chair give him no comfort. Well, a little comfort.
It was St. Patrick's day after all.

What's The Difference

In bed that night, he was most definitely awake. He was tossing and turning, groaning and moving, moaning and breathing hard. His muscles, (with practically no fat covering them, laying on top of only his bones) burned and bulged from the rush of blood. As the cool air slipped out from the ceiling vent in the room, the light coat of sweat cooled on him, only build and be cooled again.

. . .Because sex tended to bring that out in him.

She's No Different Then Optimus Prime

Is one single chill sesh--and we didn't even apply the word date--with this chick really that much to ask?

Judging from the track record, it apparently hasn't changed as the mysterious answer still eludes me years later. 

And at that--is getting back to someone, even more excruciating, rather then practically blowing them off?

A single text would make me happy.

If Me + You = Around 30 minutes or so of chill time is too much to ask then don't act so happy to see me. Going out of your way to flag me down on the street (more than once), and make yourself seem so open, so down to chill. Giving me smiles, subtle touching, laughing and giggling at all my stuff, practically dripping with a need to have me all to yourself. I know what I'm feelin' when your around. You're more flirty between the two of us then I ever attempt to be.

Goddammit. Seriously... A cup a coffee, or some Chinese food together, isn't all that bad (and practically your idea)... Or at least, she makes it seem like it's all such a good idea. That is, until, she feels it isn't anymore.

Who-the-fuck-really-knows syndrome sets in, yet again... It prompts a memory of the man with black eyes saying to himself: 

      "All the familiar places..."

 But I'll say this too. Michael Bay needs to scoop her up quick. (He's filming TF3 right now actually) 'Cuz it's more then meets the eye with her. Like a lonely yellow old Camero... it's not. You're getting something different then what she presents you. And before you know it, it's fighting another super-car/alien robot.

And YOU! You Foster City Slut! If you're readin' this... Well... it means you're fuckin' pathetic. (Which makes the pity I have for you swell to an unimaginable size)

Get a life. You can't have mine anymore. 

Munki out.