I had a routine.
Every day I did pretty much the same thing. I would wake up to the alarm at 6am, eat a bowl of cereal, get
dressed, put on my make-up and throw some stuff in my school bag and leave in twenty minutes flat. I would arrive at
the atrium, complain for two hours about how tired I was, go to class, come back, eat lunch, have a smoke, complain
some more, and then off to another class. It only varied after school, cooking, youth group, bible study, writing
papers, or sleeping.
I determined that only after a series of certain events could my day proceed. Every day, two tacos and a
cigarette later, I could venture into the planned unknown.
I arrive at a diner, drinking coffee between cigarettes, but nothing exists, because there are no tacos.
I eat tacos with friends, but it doesn’t exist either, because there are no cigarettes. And if the ratio is off,
things become blurry and strange, stretching boundaries and testing limits.
I love him, but he pisses me off. Other one loves me, but he’s like a brother, I love another and it is
unrequited.
Why am I attracted to these people?
Two tacos and a cigarette later, I still don’t know.