SUDDENLY

Jessica bought 250 sugar cubes, and she hands me one. The fat guy in front of me is better at taking pictures, but my mind is young: I am ambitious. I decide I like the second string guys that don't get to play so much, they talk to me. They don't say sorry if they bump into me, like I have a disease and I'll give it to them if they near me. A kid in a FBall uniform walks past me, without a helmet. I remember he didn't play last time, and his cologne wafts in my general direction. Pansy. "Sean Taylor keeps the ball for -- yard gain," Again. Really good coffee.
The thought of an angry Yearbook teacher, and my library fines come back and kick my pants. I am smiling anyways. A tackle lands out of bounds, practically on my foot, but I got a good picture, so I don't care if they are laughing at me. You get use to that with pink hair.
I am picturing breakfast at 6:30 am with my classy friends. I am trying to comprehend the mushy words that came out of Mr. Morris' mouth. I think about how long it took me to track down the principal just to take one picture. I wonder how Trevor's mom knew who I was. I rewind to after work, folding laundry between loud music, and skateboarding in my living room with all the rugs tucked out of the way.
Half past nine, and I'm talking on the phone with a friend I met three days ago. We dream about jumping out of airplanes, and being rock stars. I fall in the sink.
Jesting with Jimmy (don't worry he's in the band) at 11:30, and I'm ready to study the back of my eyelids, because it has been a LONG week.