I met a hot guy just chillin’ in my neighbor’s front yard. He’s got to be a musician: vintage top hat, deathly sexy pale skin, and a self-destructive streak that isn’t cliché—he smokes a pipe… and it’s corncob. He’s a little chubby, but what really got me were his intense, coal-black eyes and the way he looked at me: unblinking.
Talked to bad-boy-next-door again today. He’s the silent type but he’s got a confident smirk and his teeth are unevenly spaced (probably from bar fights) and black, because what real punk does dental care? So. Crazy. Hot.
A house sparrow perched on his shoulder and he didn’t brush it away—even when it started pecking at his cheek. I love a guy who has suffered so much he’s immune to pain. Can’t wait to hear one of his songs and find out what kind of hell he’s lived through.
The weather’s warming up and I saw a pretty freaky thing: a single tear running down his face. Pretty sure he’s writing a song about us.
Overnight, he’s slimmed down. I hope it’s from heroin because I wonder about a guy who changes himself so fast just because I casually mentioned Iggy Pop’s abs. I’m not a fan of suggestible dudes. Plus, he’s still crying.
I’m noticing things about him that I must have blocked before. His nose is huge and covered in self-tanner which makes it look orange. He’s bald and his head is misshapen. He’s got a death grip on a broom. I get that rockers sometime have to take menial jobs but why bring the broom home?
Spring is in the air and my guy is in a nonstop cold sweat. Please, please, please let it be from a drug habit withdrawal and not because he’s thinking of popping the question.
This sucks. He’s lost an arm. How does that happen when your job is sweeping? Now I’ll never hear him play his axe. I knew in my heart it was over even before this happened, but when I broke up with him he just stared at me. And then one of his teeth fell out.
My now-ex is emaciated, crying non-stop, and won’t leave my neighbor’s yard. Can you say stalker?
My shadow moved on to his next gig, but left his top hat and broom. Rock on, dude. Nice knowing you. Next time, I’m going for the nice-guy country singer who visits my neighbor’s vegetable patch every spring.