(inhibition)

God damn you half Japanese girls
You do it to me all the time
Oh the redhead said you shred the cello
And I'm Jell-O baby -- Weezer, "El Scorcho"

---

I go alone because nobody else would. Studying, gaming, macking -- whatever.
I sit at a table for four with only one. Harassing a pile of potatoes...
To eat, or not to eat.

Well there's something new...
An attractive young woman enters the room. Asian descent. Nice legs.
She sits two tables down and to the left. What a striking picture she makes.

We've got a girl with a book and a tray and a glass.
Book -- Chinese or Japanese.
Tray -- same junk that I'm trying to force on myself.
Glass -- Pepsi. Or Root Beer.
Do girls drink Root Beer? A question for the ages.

So let's go talk to her.
No? Why not? Why the hell not? Somebody stop me!

But I can stop myself. I do stop myself.
I sit in my plastic throne, staring blankly at a spot of color in the room.
She probably doesn't dig white guys. And I don't need to worry about this stuff.

Let's go!

But the seat and my rear have some strange magnetism.
Feet are attracted to the ratty carpet. Knees kiss each other.

The phone calls never made.
The words never said.
The walks never taken.
The hugs never given.
The hands never held.
The lips never kissed.
All for plastic magnetism. All for fear.

The rare occasion has consistently proved me wrong, each better than the last...
What gives? Speech is not a crime, interest is neither a crime nor a sentence.
Truth in the heart remains still, it will not die -- but I can still talk.

What the hell is this, and why the hell does it always happen
To me.

Peace.
Andrew W. 11/18/99

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