Naturally, no one would turn down anything advertised as an “invite- only City in Colour performance” because it’s Dallas Green; I would watch Dallas Green perform in the bottom of a trench off the 15 freeway in the dead of Summer if you offered me the opportunity.
I’d do it with a smile on my face as lack of oxygen and an imminent heat stroke set in to the chorus of “As Much as I Ever Could.”
There’s a lot going on with this story; namely, the fact that it took place in a warehouse turned 21st century “Her-esque” office space. I rummaged through people’s cubicles. I met a Polish woman named Katherine. Subsequently, she became best friends and drinking buddies with esthermiller and I.
The rest of the story— which needs to touch on why they had a fake pay phone in the office (next to the printer of course )— is going to have to come at a later date in some “to be continued” type of way. Till then, enjoy some pictures of Dallas Green.
The fact that he always wants me to write more is such a pretentious thing.
He knows the topic of discussion will always be him.
"I like when you do your informal writings," he says. This unique relationship we’re trying to hone is tiring and highly out of character given my declaration as a self righteous dick with a fear of being seen as weak.
Like fuck— he makes me weak.
He’s the last person I expect compliments from and the first person I think of when asked if I’ve ever been in love. The complexity involved with his status in my life has been the cause of so may introspective thought sessions and my reasoning for any number of impulsive things.
If I could get him out of my head I would.
Then revisit him as a stranger and coyly ask him out for coffee to hear him talk about politics and the renaissance.