Go Pho Down

I'm sitting at the table and I can't figure out what I'm trying to figure out. Am I thinking of one thing? If so, where is it? Maybe it's many things I try to tackle and they've decided to mess with me this evening by causing a ruckus in the kids' plastic ball pit where they're loud, annoying, pissing and trying to take each others' eyes out with a high speed red ball pitch to the face. So I'm sitting there staring out into nothing trying to find something. And the tidbits are there. The girl I like. Or don't like? I can't talk what I want to talk. What happened earlier this day. Good man?! My bum status. How I suck.

J Buddha, March and the rest of the group at the table are all cheers while I sometimes look off into the distance thinking abouGUUUUUUUUHHHH!!!!!!

THEY'RE STILL FU-FUH-FUCKIN' AROUND IN THE BALL PIIIITTTTTT!

While the thoughts get swallowed and spat out cycling in the room of that multi-colored netted room of play the look on my face is blank with a touch of woe. I think. I don't know what it looks like. I'm just trying not to bring the others down. I smirk and commit the occasional giggle to humor spoken over bowls of white noodle soup. Yum. For this pho I'm glad. I slop up the pho trying to find peace in the broth with a yearn to drown in it. It's better to be beside beef flank and beef this and beef that - there are 18 beef-based bowls - than to get my head kicked in by a rioting mind.

Yes waitress I'd like bowl #17 to die in.

And a glass of ice water, thank you.

They've decided to roam this sunless time with a trip to the hills. Perhaps the local haunt over at Marsh Road? Whatever the destination I opt to bounce out and not let my gloomy filth wash out onto the others. Byes are exchanged. Handshakes to the dudes. Big ol' hugs to the girls. J Buddha says I'm bringing their time down. It's why I'm leaving, chica. I've got stuff to think about. Or try to find exactly what it is I'm thinking about. I don't know. I go. I hit the gas with Deftones' Knife Party on repeat. Windows open. The driving breeze spills wildly into the car, pushing out shredded near-ideas and stale air. But that blank stare still sits, now savagely pushed on modified with a brutal furrow in the brow. I scream into the road wind. Fuck the night.