The parade.

12/20/02

second draft.

Dressed to the nines, nylons and pumps makeup oooh so beautiful, she takes out a short sexy blue skirt, man it mada an impression at the last party, pulling it inside out feeling its texture gently judging its place in the hierarchy, where should this little number go, with the black top and the laced underwear. Finally deciding she places it in the delicates. I watched her dressed so elegant, displaying her items of life, bras and sweaters shirts and skirts, while I was wearing, whatever I had left unwashed unshaven wanting a cigarette. Like a voyeur I watch her, I watch what she wears to work, I watch what she wears to play I watch what she wears around the house. That set of underwear men dream about seeing, paraded in front of me. Here life exposed for all to see, than I realize that so is mine. My mundane boxers and tee shirts, not a colored sock in the litter, dress clothes for work jeans and tee shirts for everything else. Like a game of Indian poker our lives are put out for all to see, there are no secrets in a laundry mat, but some tales are more interesting than others.