SFH

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Looking at my friend’s feet while we walked I could tell that shoes explain a lot about a person. His shoes were long and skinny like his body; plain in color but appealing. His shoes held the style of a shoe that a burner from the 80’s would wear. I look up at him and smile exaggerated. He looks at me and screams high pitched while raising his shoulders then starts to speed walk in little circles using his whole body to flip back his thick long hair and yells, “I’m SO excited Highmeh, I’m SO EXCITED!” Standing there cold I laugh at him while I shiver waiting for our friends by the bridge. They finally make it and we start to walk again. The cement under our feet was typical of Milwaukee. In the cracks were weeds and grass looking for a good place to grow but found this instead. All six of us chased one another up a hill only stopping to rest the black lungs. The ally, home to our destination, was lit up by orange tinted flickering lights that made you want to find a newspaper blanket and take a snooze on a labeled bench. We finally made it to the house my friend was raving about. As we approached the lawn, the originals outside stared and one or two pointed and whispered questions. Oddly, their performance didn’t stop me. I didn’t feel out of place at all. As I walked through the front door I studied the eyes of a woman leaning against a chipped beam. They were grey and green. Her makeup was black and made her look sick. I thought, people glance at her and probably expect she did that to scare them away. But I see the faults in people as a story, how I would love to hear hers… Forcing my eyes to stop the wandering, I fallowed them through the twisted narrow hallways, through the occupied kitchen and down to the basement. Pushing through the groups to get to the back of the room I felt cold metal studs against my bare arms and inhaled waste from their adopted habit. The smoke couldn’t escape so it swirled around the pipes that clustered the ceiling. I looked around at the many symbols smeared on the uneven walls. My favorite was above the bar. It read, “F**king Hipsters” on a star being eaten by a Sword Fish. Once settled down in the back we heard an unexpected sound. Who would have thought a viola’s bow on an old band saw blade could make such an admired sound. Sitting on old woven stools in front of me a man with two long curly red beards and a bald head played the banjo. Such unexpected brilliance was given the supreme name; Wooden Robot. Switched out and replaced by what we came for. My idol Hipsters were three feet in front of me! I could have touched them. Yet I was tossed with half the crowed into the turquoise walls that crumbled to the floor when you touched them. I was where I would from then on always want to be. Even pinned to the wall I was grinning and pushing back.





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