lost in the supermarket

Tessellate — Tokyo Police Club

It’s five pm and I’m already queuing outside. I look at the ticket stub and it says doors open at six-thirty, with the first band on at seven and no indication of when the main act will follow. This is the culmination of four Saturdays spent stacking shelves, four Saturdays spent under fluorescent lights, four Saturdays listening to Co-op FM on playing the same twelve songs on repeat.

She is supposed to meet me here at half five as she can’t get out of class before then. I know that’s sort of bullshit as her school finish at four pm and it takes barely forty five minutes from the school gate to here, I sussed she was heading home first when she told me she’d arrive at the bus stop across the road instead of the one coming straight from town, but I figure it’s no bad thing that she wants to freshen up first. Chicks are like that I guess.

I spot her standing halfway down the queue on her tiptoes, looking just past me each time, starting to look a bit worried. Before I can shout her name she sees me and smiles that Cheshire cat grin and starts running over and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks and the tops of my thighs, my stomach feels light and wobbly and my palms clam up. She looks amazing.

It’s another thirty minutes spent in the queue before they eventually open the doors earlier than planned and I say some silent thanks to the security guards who usher us in as I was running dangerously low on awkward small talk. She goes to the cloakroom to check in her bag and I head to the bar to get some drinks. 2 plastic cups with cold beer. The first sip steadies my nerves at last.

It’s hard to hear what she’s saying so after a while we end up standing side by side in comfortable silence. I take the opportunity to stand slightly behind and check her out from the rear – skinny jeans and her hips are a great look. She sees me looking and blushes. If I had more courage I would have leant in and kissed her right then but I’m a coward so I don’t.

 

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