Snapshots

I don't know how to be properly autobiographical. I guess it's an acquired taste. Like snake.

Today, some girl on my floor burned popcorn in her microwave so badly that the alarms all went off and the firetrucks came, but not badly enough that the sprinklers went off. Funny how that happens. Everyone stood around on the grass because the three firemen apparently had to use the entire sidewalk, and I wanted a cigarette desperately. It was only once I had smoked one that I realized taking deep breaths, not nicotine, held all the appeal in making that decision. They were Newports, cheap ones, and the smell they left on my fingers reminded me of my ex-girlfriend.

I listen to my local classic rock station online to remind me of home in an unfamiliar city. I suffer through every single stupid song just to hear a trace of the DJs' Philly accents. Even the ones by a band named Hooters with random religious references. Even the hair metal. In the end, though, it doesn't matter, because Weezer has impeccable timing.