Floating like Luna.
Flighty like Luna.
This is a ridiculous pose.
But it'd be just like her to float out a window on a tangent.
[photo from here.]
Today was a good day. Tucker grilled in his backyard. His Round Table came over--his company of intellectual equals with dry senses of humor and witty one-liners. They sit around drinking sangria or PBR and making astute observations about pop culture and social interactions. They're quiet, low maintenance fun with snark and sass and self-awareness. And they regard my out of step comments as whimsy and off-kilter, not awkward.Have I been wrong this whole time? Should I be looking for my own round table, instead of glam and scene and red cup parties? It smelled like the summers Kid Rock would sing about. The conversation was a little more high-brow, though.
[photo from here.]
Luna is hard. She doesn’t like people to understand her. Sometimes she wears home-made earrings with bells in them, or paperclips on her earlobe. She carries a small but heavy black canvas backpack she marked up with a gold paint pen. A good-luck charm and a whistle hang from a zipper. She can fit into almost any social setting. Sometimes she gets bored and decides to liven up the proceedings. This is dangerous, since I think maybe her conscience doesn’t work in the normal way.She’d cheerily let your life go up in flames, but she’d never spit her gum out on the sidewalk.
Tucker is very reassuring. He wears converse or Timberlands. Dark slim-cut jeans and v-necks and hoodies, with a hint of bony collarbone peeking out. He has sensitive artist’s hands and a woman’s ring on a chain around his neck. He has one tattoo, but he won’t tell me where or what it is. Most importantly, maybe, are his dark, dark eyes. They’re so dark you can’t see his pupils in certain lighting, so you can’t always tell whether he’s watching you. It’s safest to assume that he’s always watching, even though a lot of the time, he misses the important stuff.