June 11, 2008 by vinylburns
I sit here, drunk on the bourbon and soda we found in the back of the limo.
The other night, I took a late night stroll through an electrical storm, to the local Tim Hortons coffee and donut emporium. I had the pleasurable company of my good friend Anton Russ. As we took possession of our paper cups of steamy wet brown, we noticed a little something else steaming in the Hortons.
A chatting, bubbling, glowing gaggle of, at a guess, 17 year old girls, with one enthusiastic young male suitor. His excited and earnest pursuit of these ladies’ attentions were, to the elder and more worldly eye, transparent and a little uncomfortable. Slightly more uncomfortable though, were the number of passing gentlemen who, upon seeing these gals, changed their short term agenda from “to go” to “to stay”.
We ourselves were already planning to sit in, as the thunderstorm rolled across the skies, and similarly violent disturbances raged within… We ordered another coffee, and a donut or two, for the duration.
Many pairs of masculine eyes passed across these young forms glistening in the neon wash of fast food and easy intentions. Additional transactions, compromised glances and an increasing hunger to consume or be consumed by, delicate dishes plainly known to be, “culinarily”, off piste.
Many felt the craving… many tried to fill that aching empty desire… most, with donuts.
Anton turned to me… “Donuts…” he said “… they’re not love…”
“True” I agreed
“They’re not love… but they do have holes in them.”
The lightning flickered, the girls giggled, and the truckers touched themselves in the neon.
“… we all have holes…”