![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
to russia, with love (tieunis: random drabble)
(Jillia belongs to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kay_willow and apparently has taken up residence in Tieunis' head, which means by extension in mine.)
On the way home from work it was raining; raining and dark, the water running hollow down the storm drains. And cold. I left my umbrella on the subway a few weeks ago and forgot to get a new one. Now if it were daytime there'd be a half a million people selling 'em on the corners, but it's late, even in New York, and so I walked home in the rain.
I don't mind though - I like the rain. It's nice. Even though not much is open at that hour where we live. The little boutiques in Sander's neighborhood are all closed, all the little restaurants are shut up after the late after-theatre dinner. Which is a drag. Dinner after work would be nice. I usually end up eating cheese by the cold light of a naked refrigerator bulb.
There's this little shop, somewhere in the east Fifties, I forget where - on my way home from work, anyway, between the subway and home. Sells little fragile things, tchotchkes - dust collectors. Mostly crap, but some of it's pretty. Glass vases - I guess I could buy mom one now, now that Sander and I aren't tearing up the place, huh? And they have those little wooden dolls - the Russian ones ... what the hell are they called ...? They were calling me, man, a row of little dolls sitting there with painted eyes and hair and happy patterned dresses.
There's a chick that sometimes comes into the coffee shop where I work. Works at the phone company, in a cube - god, the luckiest cube farm in the world, I fucking swear. Makes me want to quit schlepping hash and embrace the delights of Ma Bell, you know? A little let my fingers do the walking.
But it's not just a sex thing. It's a ... she's got this ... I guess you'd call it magnetism, you know? Something like that. You know how it is when people keep showing up in your head? You keep think you're seeing them on the corner buying flowers or down at the grocery store? That's what she's like, to me.
What the hell are those damn dolls called? I'm going crazy here.
New York is a really big small town, you know, that's the dumbest thing. She had cute braids the other day; I saw her at the little bodega when I was buying Twinkies and Scientific American. Cute little braids and a smile that just knew she was the center of attention. She was buying cat food ...
Matroushkas. That's what they're called.
I'm goin' back tomorrow. To get them, on the way to work. Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky.
kay_willow and apparently has taken up residence in Tieunis' head, which means by extension in mine.)On the way home from work it was raining; raining and dark, the water running hollow down the storm drains. And cold. I left my umbrella on the subway a few weeks ago and forgot to get a new one. Now if it were daytime there'd be a half a million people selling 'em on the corners, but it's late, even in New York, and so I walked home in the rain.
I don't mind though - I like the rain. It's nice. Even though not much is open at that hour where we live. The little boutiques in Sander's neighborhood are all closed, all the little restaurants are shut up after the late after-theatre dinner. Which is a drag. Dinner after work would be nice. I usually end up eating cheese by the cold light of a naked refrigerator bulb.
There's this little shop, somewhere in the east Fifties, I forget where - on my way home from work, anyway, between the subway and home. Sells little fragile things, tchotchkes - dust collectors. Mostly crap, but some of it's pretty. Glass vases - I guess I could buy mom one now, now that Sander and I aren't tearing up the place, huh? And they have those little wooden dolls - the Russian ones ... what the hell are they called ...? They were calling me, man, a row of little dolls sitting there with painted eyes and hair and happy patterned dresses.
There's a chick that sometimes comes into the coffee shop where I work. Works at the phone company, in a cube - god, the luckiest cube farm in the world, I fucking swear. Makes me want to quit schlepping hash and embrace the delights of Ma Bell, you know? A little let my fingers do the walking.
But it's not just a sex thing. It's a ... she's got this ... I guess you'd call it magnetism, you know? Something like that. You know how it is when people keep showing up in your head? You keep think you're seeing them on the corner buying flowers or down at the grocery store? That's what she's like, to me.
What the hell are those damn dolls called? I'm going crazy here.
New York is a really big small town, you know, that's the dumbest thing. She had cute braids the other day; I saw her at the little bodega when I was buying Twinkies and Scientific American. Cute little braids and a smile that just knew she was the center of attention. She was buying cat food ...
Matroushkas. That's what they're called.
I'm goin' back tomorrow. To get them, on the way to work. Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky.
no subject
It's funny how accurate this is to Jill, solely by making her the happy and confident center of attention. ^_^
no subject