What it’s like being a man when the sun pops out.
Spring starts when the sun creeps out from behind the clouds and then the clouds vanish and the cold is replaced by something a little more manageable. Summer arrives just after when it’s warm enough to sport a t-shirt without a jacket. For some people summer arrives in spring, they shed their jackets and stay that way till sometime in late September or October when the clouds creep in front of the sun again and the sun fails to keep you warm on its own.
Spring is when the blossoms start blooming. Sunglasses appear from nowhere and suddenly the streets and the parks are filled with people shedding their clothes showing more skin than is manageable to bear.
That’s the time of year when my head gets into permanent motion. Like the blooming blossoms my hormones are sprouting along everybody else’s. Sometimes I get the feeling that I can’t cope anymore, the streets seem filled with pretty girls and you develop a wanting urge. Wanting it all. And just to look isn’t always enough, the smiles being exchanged on those sunny faces do the rest, puts you into permanent turmoil. I can’t do it, just wanna sit somewhere, prime spot, watch people go by and keep on smiling till just perhaps I am being spoken to. Someone I desire, when it’s everyone I desire. How do you cope, how do you keep yourself under control. It’s one of those things I find troublesome. I enjoy though, but wish I could be immune and just get on with everything else.
But the sun gets in the way and so do those female bodies, which keep wandering past a smile never too far away. What better to do then head into the closest park right after work, get a beer in, maybe two, sit in the grass in a well chosen spot reading a book while glancing above the rims of those glasses which feel to big, but hide you well. And the trouble is what you discover just beyond is what makes you weak and you know you like and start to drift from one daydream to the next. It’s destructive and I never manage to read more than just perhaps a chapter.
Some mate pops by, suddenly you feel someone tap you on the shoulder and you turn in anticipation just to discover someone with the same haunted expression as you. Then you sit together not reading anymore, although you never really did, instead you are both sending furtive glances around and never fail to point out areas of interest.
I am not certain whether it’s sad or something that just happens. Measure the intensity of a couple of guys as they sit and watch, their blank minds occupied with thin air and rosy fantasies and you could fill a pretty big box in a short time.
I have this one friend whose expressions weigh more than anyone else’s I know. You can read him like a cartoon, or a silent movie everything is exaggerated. Last time I saw him he had grown a beard, it hid some of the expressions, but never the lot. I guess that’s why people with beards have a bad name, it’s a bit like wearing great big mirrored shades at all times. If you wear both, don’t be afraid in the dark, cause chances are you’ll be there by yourself. But other then the muggers who don’t care who they pick there is not much threat out there.
We spotted a fox the other night, it was quick to vanish behind a fence. How about an urban fox hunt I thought and could just about imagine the hunters in their outdated uniforms abandoning their horses to climb over that fence and chase the poor creature back onto the street. Not too different from a group of lads after the pubs close, who chase someone they can, into a corner, before giving them a good kicking for no good reason.