kcaver
She was expected to have a framework to explain her approach to her craft. Too bad a skill that is both science and art can be difficult to articulate into a succinct framework. She cringed when comparing herself to the simple yet advanced language of others in describing their crafts.
A dinner without any entrees. That's what "tapas" are to the father. He sat down, and stared disappointingly at the small plates in front of him, wondering what some of the foods were and how long before he could leave the restaurant and get a cheeseburger. He glanced at his wife and cosmopolitan daughter, who appeared to be enjoying themselves with satisfying, "Mmm"'s periodically.
We continually orbit around one another, catching glances on online chat applications, but never sure when or who or how to make the first move, to collide with another planet that seems so close yet so out of reach.
The festival was tomorrow. It was all he could think about, as he helped his mother prepare their family's dinner. What would the festival bring tomorrow? Acrobats? Fire eaters? Fortune tellers? He looked over at his sister, laying on the couch. Would there be a fortune teller who could tell him if his sister would live to see next year's festival?
She had "Mr Bill" from School House Rock tattooed on her side. He wanted to look at her tattoo, which she deemed inappropriate as he was a black bus driver and she was a white student. Of course, she wasn't consciously thinking about race when he asked, but unconsciously she had been socialized to see black men as dangerous, and definitely men who asked such inappropriate things were especially dangerous.
writing since 2012 · 9 entries · 8 days shown up
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anotherfestivaloddsfilledyeshaircasefatherhousepeninappropriateblackdangerousdinnerfortunesister