Before he runs off, Sunshine looks like a werewolf before a moaning howl in his burly, hunched over posture, slamming back his beer and then departing for the bathroom.
I’ll jokingly make fun of the way my ex-girlfriend runs, which is awkward and lopsided, but before, when we were still together, I would have teased her, now I am bitter and say these things because actually she does look pretty stupid.
Alec initially ruled the goals here, but maybe realized the animosity growing towards him and became goalie. Perhaps it was the rapid exertion of energy or the opium tea, which I am now consuming. Sunshine has returned and knows that I am writing and suggests that I describe Alec as a modern day Huck Finn. I don’t know enough about Alec, or Huck Finn, to justify this description because I haven’t read any of the classics.
A plastic bag blows away from the playing field, unencumbered by whatever was holding it to the ground before. Gabee and I both compare it to a scene in American Beauty and remark on how it is beautiful. We both know that is it really just trash, and don’t make any motion to pick it up.
The Face plays soccer with a can of beer super-glued to his hand. He is enthusiastic about the game and occasionally remarks about how tasty his water is. A stupid smile is plastered on his face. Rather, half of his face has decided to smile and the other half is limp. This may be how he likes to look, but it may also be a muscle disorder.
Sunshine blames his slurring, when accused, on having a cigarette in his mouth. He doesn’t regularly smoke cigarettes so maybe he’s telling the truth or he is lying and getting drunk because he is smoking.
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