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( Cross Posted )
Jul. 1st, 2006
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Jul. 1st, 2006 02:36 pmEngland v Portugal
Hmmmm
Oh and
and, of course
Hmmmm
- EN-GER-LAND!
EN-GER-LAND!
Oh and
- COME ON ANDRE!
and, of course
- COME ON MURRAY!
Penalties... The Curse of England
Jul. 1st, 2006 06:45 pmEngland - Out
Agassi - Out
Murray playing...
Ugh...
Agassi - Out
Murray playing...
Ugh...
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mjtheanarchistThe diner was empty apart from the bored waitress, the cook, and the two of them. It was dark outside, and sirens could be heard in the distance. He looked over at her, she sat a few seats from him at the bar.
"This is not what I expected," he mused out loud.
"What, you don't like New Jersey?" she didn't sound like the others he had heard since the morning, most people were either cursing, or just rude. She seemed friendly.
"Not just this town," he turned to her, and she noticed suddenly how pale he was, and with it being the middle of summer, she found it odd.
"Then what?" she asked, turning to him, her coffee was still too hot to drink.
"I came out into Manhattan today for the first time, and it was nothing like what I imagined from the books I've read," he smiled, the expression looked good, but also strange on his features.
"Where are you from?" she asked, not able to discern an accent.
"I'm from New York," his voice quietened, "but it's the first time I've seen Manhattan with my own eyes."
"Somewhere upstate?" she stood and walked over to him, sliding her cup along the counter.
"My dad was the caretaker at the New York Public Library," he looked at his feet, feeling a little foolish. "I was raised and schooled in the Library."
"You've lived in there all your life?" her voice carried her incredulity well.
"I know, it's hard to believe, but that's how my father chose to raise me," a tear fell from his eye, "he died, just last week."
"I'm sorry to hear that," her voice softened, but then questions began to pile up in her mind. "What did you think the world would be like?"
"Friendlier, for a start," he laughed, a short burst of sound. "You're the first person who's spoken to me without telling me how much in the way I am," she blushed a little at that.
"What books did you read?" she asked, still intrigued by this walking oddity.
"Everything I could, and that encompasses a lot, but the ones I enjoyed most were fairly obviously in the fiction section," he laughed a little more happily then. "From contemporary crime, to horror, to fantasy, anything where a person triumphs over adversity to win," he looked at her and smiled. "It made me think of the world as a place filled with ordinary heroes, but my first impression was that it was filled by ordinary villains!"
"It would be nice if everyone was a hero, but they're too rare," she thought aloud.
"When I saw people standing by, ignoring when others were being hurt, I learnt something," his voice quietened.
"What did you learn?" she looked at him, not sure whether she wanted to hear the answer.
"That there are very few heroes, or villains," he looked into her eyes, his gaze piercing. "The world is filled with people who simply do not care."
"It usually takes people years to figure that out," she smiled at him.
"Although, I've met my first hero," he reached out his hand to her, and she took it, shaking it firmly. "I'm going to return to my library, but I would be honoured if you came to visit me there," he smiled, "I can introduce you to some old friends."
"What's your name?" she asked suddenly.
"William," he paused, "named after Shakespeare."
"I'm Louise," she finished her coffee. "I'm heading into Manhattan anyway, why don't I drive you there?"
"This is not what I expected," he mused out loud.
"What, you don't like New Jersey?" she didn't sound like the others he had heard since the morning, most people were either cursing, or just rude. She seemed friendly.
"Not just this town," he turned to her, and she noticed suddenly how pale he was, and with it being the middle of summer, she found it odd.
"Then what?" she asked, turning to him, her coffee was still too hot to drink.
"I came out into Manhattan today for the first time, and it was nothing like what I imagined from the books I've read," he smiled, the expression looked good, but also strange on his features.
"Where are you from?" she asked, not able to discern an accent.
"I'm from New York," his voice quietened, "but it's the first time I've seen Manhattan with my own eyes."
"Somewhere upstate?" she stood and walked over to him, sliding her cup along the counter.
"My dad was the caretaker at the New York Public Library," he looked at his feet, feeling a little foolish. "I was raised and schooled in the Library."
"You've lived in there all your life?" her voice carried her incredulity well.
"I know, it's hard to believe, but that's how my father chose to raise me," a tear fell from his eye, "he died, just last week."
"I'm sorry to hear that," her voice softened, but then questions began to pile up in her mind. "What did you think the world would be like?"
"Friendlier, for a start," he laughed, a short burst of sound. "You're the first person who's spoken to me without telling me how much in the way I am," she blushed a little at that.
"What books did you read?" she asked, still intrigued by this walking oddity.
"Everything I could, and that encompasses a lot, but the ones I enjoyed most were fairly obviously in the fiction section," he laughed a little more happily then. "From contemporary crime, to horror, to fantasy, anything where a person triumphs over adversity to win," he looked at her and smiled. "It made me think of the world as a place filled with ordinary heroes, but my first impression was that it was filled by ordinary villains!"
"It would be nice if everyone was a hero, but they're too rare," she thought aloud.
"When I saw people standing by, ignoring when others were being hurt, I learnt something," his voice quietened.
"What did you learn?" she looked at him, not sure whether she wanted to hear the answer.
"That there are very few heroes, or villains," he looked into her eyes, his gaze piercing. "The world is filled with people who simply do not care."
"It usually takes people years to figure that out," she smiled at him.
"Although, I've met my first hero," he reached out his hand to her, and she took it, shaking it firmly. "I'm going to return to my library, but I would be honoured if you came to visit me there," he smiled, "I can introduce you to some old friends."
"What's your name?" she asked suddenly.
"William," he paused, "named after Shakespeare."
"I'm Louise," she finished her coffee. "I'm heading into Manhattan anyway, why don't I drive you there?"