Em's the one on the right

Sometimes, it seems like forever when it was really just a day.

...

I have a sister that fancies herself a writer of poetry. I would occasionally be exposed to her stuff and would think "anyone can rhyme; that doesn't make it a poem."

I've been forced to write poetry, if that's even possible, and I've written things of free will.

I can feel the difference between poets and posers.

Rhythm without rhyme.

...

So, Emily quit. I should have known something was up because the last time I spoke to her she added herself to my cell phone.

I would usually see her when she worked the night shift on Friday. She also worked the day shift on Sunday. I used to never go in on the weekends, mostly because it seemed excessive but when the rumor started eight weeks ago that she was going to quit, I made it a point to drop by.

I would bring in espresso and she would make martinis for us. I would be surprised if she ever charged me for half of what I drank.

I'll probably will never call her. I'll probably send her a myspace message once or twice and then fade to black.



...


"Those pictures are great. You do good work."

"They would be better if I was given some direction." (That horrible English, isn't it?)

She had wanted me to "stitch" together the entire length of the city block on all four sides. I would snap a photo every fifty feet or so. After, the third photo, I knew it wasn't going to work but I shot the entire block anyway and then took the shots I thought would work. When I got back with 119 photos, she then told me what she had wanted.

...

She wears too much makeup for a pretty woman.