It's All Fiction, so calm down.

All made up. Except for the "When I Was Ten" story, that one was non-fiction...oh and some of this one, too. I don't edit this stuff unless I feel like going back and saving something. Most of it is full of typo's and inconsistent tenses. haha :)

Then my car's tires hit the damn curb again, so I cursed under my breath and struggled with the seat belt's death grip on my purse strap. I step from my car, the door moaning loudly like it always does, to see someone that I slowly recognized to be one of my neighbors. I'd seen him a few times, said a quick 'hey-what's-up?" that was just a greeting, not an actual question while running off to class or to work. He was tall, almost too tall, and tan with an upstate accent that I couldn't put my finger on. He smelled good, like a decent cologne with a thin layer of beer and Newports mixed in. That can't be normal that I think that smells good.

"Heyyy, neighbor, what's up? Why you out so late? You're cute. Let's chill!"
I cannot believe I lost my pepper spray last week, now I'm standing here defenseless against my too drunk too tall neighbor. I was thinking of how to put my keys between my fingers, and which way I should punch him to have the worst effect, when he touched my arm.

"I'm Spencer. Let's chill, you're cute, I just don't want to be alone right now."
I'm not sure if he said "you're cute" again or if I just heard it, but I felt comfortable with him, and his eyes were sincere, his body language relaxed. I can hear my mother in the back of my head screaming "What is wrong with you?!" and I just whisper 'everything.' to shut her up.

"I'm Jen, I was out studying. Huge test on Friday." I rescued my phone from my purse, leaving my bag to be swallowed up by my car. Locking the door behind me, Spencer and I start walking and he kept talking.

"Yeah we always see each other and barely even say hello so -"
"I do too say hello!"
"Psh yeah like once. I just marked you off as a bitch after that." He smiled and I was glad he was so light-hearted. Maybe he was just a light-hearted drunk, I don't know, but it was nice to spend some time with someone. I guess I didn't want to be alone, either.
We walked to his front door and I laughed, tapping him on the arm.

"You live right below me! Weird, huh?"
"Yo, this place is crazy, have you met the lady with the short bleached-blonde hair, they call her - "
"Mrs. Juicy?" I laughed, "yeah, her dog is so cute!"

He opened the door to his apartment and it was odd to see the exact same model as mine, but as someone else's home. I could see him better now, and his hair was black like I'd guessed, but his skin tone was a lot more tan than I'd suspected, an olive color.

"Are you Hispanic?" I asked, wondering if he was the typical, suave asshole so common to our city.

"Nah, nah, nah, look - " He points to a big black-and-white print of Frank Sinatra hanging on the wall. Frank's relaxed in a chair with a careful half-smile, a whisp of smoke collecting above his hat.
"One-hundred percent Italian, baby." I rolled my eyes and sat down on his loveseat next him, him sitting forward, me indian-style and facing his side.

"So who are you, what do you do, tell me, Jen." He lights a cigarette (Newports, just like I'd guessed) and hands me one, too.


-more laterrrrrr-