ame_chan: They're like, that boy, the boy you know is bad news, the one with the scruffy chin and the long hair and the bad ass attitude and the boots and the bike. That boy who is sooooo good and sooooo sweet and sooooo good until suddenly, he's just.... bad, and you're sobbing into your teacup for a month and waiting for him to call and wearing his sweater until the smell has gone out and... yeah.
Yeah. I love 'em.
kalessin: They're like that girl, the achingly gorgeous one you've known all these years now, boyo. She laughed at you in grade school, barely tolerated you in junior high, refused to go out with you in high school.
But where she used to be all traditional and frumpy, she's now a modern gal: black suit, white silk blouse, short skirt, long jacket, radical-frame sunglasses, top-floor condo in the Back Bay, Chrysler convertible, Ducati sportbike. Top-shelf, top speed, top fashion. Red hot.
You've spiffed up your act, cleaned up the house, learned she's got nothing else on her schedule for October, and invited her over for drinks. You know there's no point, you know the history. But you can't help but keep hoping something's gonna spark, maybe this could be the time.
You HAVE to invite her into your livingroom, even if you KNOW she's just going to have half a glass, thank you for a nice time, and leave you heartbroken again, with a vague whiff of an expensive perfume you can't even name and a promise to get together again next spring.
The Old Town team. I can't stop loving them. Even if we don't go all the way, I'll always respect them for what they are and what they've accomplished.