Single-Serving-Friends 1 (Purely Fiction)

Today I just met, what i'm sure will go down in the books, as my greatest single serving friend. Let's set it up

Train station after Christmas day. Quite a contrast to the wholesome family fun from preceding days, the train station after Christmas is a haven for nomadic and disparaging souls of the upper orange county. Participants flock towards this emotionally barren area symbolizing all things fleeting and ephemeral. With holidays come and gone, everyone's unattainable past realized, all were approaching reality at 65 miles per hour. Too many cigarette butts in too small a space, you sense the settling apprehension the second you enter. I'm racing towards my life, in coach class, with an overzealous announcer to ease (any more oomph and it's cease) the transition.

I like to ponder on everyone's destination. Take Mr. Rolex for example. With his $50 haircut and mocha colored manpurse, he's off to rule the world, no doubt. The latest edition of crate & barrel in hand, foot tapping cheetah speed, could he really be that one dimensional? There must be an undiscovered forte, he must collect bad art or have an affinity for bagpipes, or something. First stop: One bedroom bachelor pad, gaslamp district, comes with your expansive Sweedish CD collection and Warhol prints.

What of the begger. Impassioned at the sight of freight trains, she finds intellectual stimulation in her equally impoverished man-friend on the basis of cheese. Generic or brand they quip, carefully crafted string or efficient sliced and individually wrapped they quarrel. The disagreement climaxes at the aesthetics of pepper jack, and it's all gravy from there. Their matching primary colored beanies, and hoover esque pseudo mitts make for quite the predictable picture. First stop: last dinner at that soup kitchen closing down at the methodist church in PB due to fiscally proficient douchebags. Second stop: dolce and gabbana to change out of their dirt ridden clothing, initially worn for a social experiment. Give me dimension baby!

And who am I to judge?

Having disappointed my boss for probably the 3rd time in my three week trail, I was certain unemployment would be waiting at the end of this trip. I had not only sworn on all things rock and roll, that I would pick up a shift this evening in exchange for this weekend's liberty, but I had also left on the heater for a good three days straight.

"I'll be missing this evening's shift superboss, did I mention I love your band's new myspace! New designer or something? you learning html you bad boy you". Click on the receiving end. Grade A failure stamped on my ass, I trudged towards the loading section. And there she was.

Her irritatingly positive demeanor attacked the core of my self indulged angst. There are moments where this enthusiasm would only mirror my outgoing hyperactivity, but silly smiling girl with your hand out, as I pathetically dote on upcoming unemployment is not one of them. See the downcast glance? Notice the lack of any enjoyment in my eyes? Guess not, seeing as how your outstretched hand continues to awkwardly linger. Fine, I'll tango, says my very overpowered, but still existant, inner philanthropist. I grab her hand and mouth Christina, behind clenched teeth...