Well, I've done it again. I've spent yet another day playing on HitRECord instead of cleaning and writing syllabi and all the mundane post-holiday things I should be doing. How do you people ever get anything done? There is no end to the inspiration here.
Anyway, I wanted to try and write a funny story about a picture, and this was the one that caught my eye. Thanks to Jennyffer Maria for the great drawing, inspired by Metaphorist's line, and the lovely coloring that Metaphorist did. It was the rainbow hair that got my attention. And Day Glo, if you're wondering why I've referenced you in this record, it's because I'm completely smitten with your voice, and I would love to hear you read this! :-)
So, without further adieu . . .
When Walter Met Minky
Walter R. Witt was the loneliest hipster, although he couldn’t say why.
His beard was unkempt, his blue jeans were skinny, his humor sufficiently dry.
Neon Bear Milk was his favorite band. For beer, he drank PBR.
But Walter was proof that lonesome was lame, no matter how hipster you are.
Walter was thinking about his condition, drinking his fair trade Joe.
He decided to try a new location, but wasn’t sure where he should go.
He buttoned his sweater and left feeling better, headed for Washington Square.
When standing outside the Old Rabbit Club was a girl with rainbow hair.
He studied her eyes and red-painted lips as she boldly asked for a light.
Her dress was floral, her fingernails coral, her smile alluring and bright.
“My name is Minky,” she said with a winky, eyelashes long and dark.
He held out his lighter and thought to invite her to walk with him to the park.
Along the way, they smoked and they chatted, and Walter felt his heart whirl.
She seemed inviting and far more exciting than a vegan bohemian girl.
As Minky sashayed along beside him, Walter was filled with pride.
He asked where she lived and she said with a grin, “the Lower Lower West Side.”
Walter explained all his favorite things, blogs and bars and bands.
He looked at her to give her a turn, and she wrung her ring-dressed hands.
She spoke of Oranges and malls and shores, The Boss and dresses of satin.
And that was the moment Walter realized that Minky was not from Manhattan.