I Bruise Easily

No, really, I do. I was teaching new kid, who I’ll refer to as E, to dance about a week ago. Hey, I’ve been busy, I’ve not had time to update this damn thing.

Anyway, bruises. Bruises, bruises, bruises. I have tons of them, and they’re still hanging around, even later. Hell, I’ve got one from two weeks ago that’s still hanging out on my leg just like. Yeah man. How’s it going? How’s the wife? No wife? She leave you? What about kids? No kids? What are you man, gay or something?

He sounds like a nosy taxi driver, you know. One of those ones who wants to know everything and even though you’re about to puke up all over their nice, clean, car floor, they want to know the names of all your relatives and every pet you’ve ever had.

Yes, so my bruise, Bruiseito De Bruise. He’s a taxi driver. A bruise that drives taxis. He doesn’t much like it, but it pays for his wifes medical bills and puts nice food on his table for his kids.

Who are all evil bastards, by the way. And there’s a lot of them, because Bruiseito De Bruise is vaguely related to rabbits. His great great great great great great Grandfather was Thumper. From bambi, you know? Yeah, that’s a little known fact, but as a taxi driver, he told me this.

I’ve just got in from a night ~out on the town~, so I am slightly not sober. Only a teensy bit not sober. Generally quite sober. Hence the ramblings about bruises that drive taxis. A black, London taxi. Not a silly yellow New York one.

I’ve never been to New York. I hear its cold this time of year. I’ve never been to America at all. Furthest I’ve been is France, on a school trip.

Okay, yeah, so new kid. Bruises. Taxis. Out on the town. New York.

Funnily enough, I didn’t actually have a point to this post.

I just spelled actually as eggtuly. Thank god for spell check, am I right?

Yes, I am right. Thank God for whoever invented spell check, and may he, she or it, we don’t discriminate here, be blessed. God Bless you, inventor of spell check.

Welllll. This post is highly and incredibly pointless. And kind of stupid and weird too.

Toodle pip, and don’t take rides from strange bruises, even if they are driving a taxi. At best, they’ll just bore you to death. At worst…well…I don’t even want to go there.

* Sage.

X o x o x o o x o.

P.S. Even if they’re wearing a very nice hat, don’t accept a ride from a strange, unknown bruise.

P.P.S. Even if the hat has a jaunty feather.

P. P. P. S. Especially if the hat has a jaunty feather.

The Cities Are Dying.

Random obscure lyric title ftw.

A new guy started at work today. Exciting, right? No, Sage, that’s not exciting at all, you say. Well let me finish then, I say.

A new guy started at work today. He’s different from the others, I think. Well, I’ve only known him for about six hours, and our conversation was mostly one sided. Approximately twenty sentences said by me, and about five and a squeak on his part. However, those five sentences and a squeak were far more interesting than anything the others have to say.

For example, from our brief exchanges of noises formed to make words, I discerened that he has actually heard of a book before. And by golly, he has read at least one. Hell, from what he seemed to say, he has read many books.

The other guys at work won’t read anything unless it has pictures. And only if the pictures are scantily clad males, and the words that accompany this fine piece of art are something along the lines of “James, 25, talented mouth”.

Anyway, I’m knackered. I showed off a bit for the new kid.

Over and out,

Sage x

Who The Hell Are You?

I’m Sage. I’m 20, from Dublin. This is reading like a personals.

This blog’ll be about my friends, my life, my job…all sorts of things. Feel free to comment/introduce yourself at any point.