A Concept: I walked down to Scott's as perusual to raid the ashtrays, get my fix. It was a good day, a good raid, I lit a ciggerette and was to be on my way home again...heh...home. My friend miguel walked up to me though, he had cut out of school early and went to scott's for the same reason I did, get a smoke or three. He knew I had just rided the ashtrays though, a freiendly rivalry, but there are also local bums that do the same, a rivalry that's not so friendly, gotta get there first. I gave him one of the longest butts and we sat down on some salt bags and shared a moment or two of silence. I asked him for a quater to add to my own and I walked over and gto a soda, faygo redpop, for us to share. It was a weird thing then, I looked over to a local scott's employee that was loading the faygo machine and he met my eyes. I said "That's a lot of soda." and he laughed and said yeah, I looked to miguel and het met my gaze through his aviator style sunglasses and in na voice ridden with nostalgia he said, "it is". Now that means nothing, but its the over all emotion or feelign to the thing that made it what it was. We led into talkign of the old times. The good old times. We sat there for 45 minuites, a lto of it in silence btu words speakon to eachother were of the times when all was in good humor, it was all for fun, we both agreed that the good old days were the best of days, and talked of peopel who wanted things the way they were. Then we grew silent knowign the words that should be spoken btu neither one of us spoke them. We knew the words though..."the good old times are gone, and gone for good." We talked abotu how we knew we would all split up someday soon, and of what our plans were, desperate meaningless plans when compared to the good old times. Iu gave him half of my raid and he dropped me off home, a silent car ride it was at that, both of us leaving eachother then, botho us feelign somewhat less, somewhat hollow... in these days, none of us, our friends, our kind, are thriving, the good old days are gone and gone for good, but the concept of a frail brotherhood is left. For what? The most obvious question to ask, btu only silently because outloud those words may be enoguh to shatter the image of hopewe have left, a dieing breed we are. Life really is a mysterious thing...what a concept.
The only difference between the creative and the conformists is that the creative will not be conquered and the conformists already are.