I knew who you were though I didn't know your name. I was leaning against a purple Mustang in a SoCal parking lot, and you were laughing with this "whoop-whoop" that went from mere aural landscape to precious in an instant. A Valley Bird call. I didn't know your friends or even why I was there. But these sorts of things happen to me in real life, these... events. I've hopped in any number of strange cars just because of a funny laugh or a song I liked, so I didn't think too much of it. I followed alongside your little pack of sweat and grapefruit-scented wolves, waiting to see what would happen. We entered a stadium and from the looks and sounds of things arena football or minor league baseball or maybe a demo derby. The particulars were muddy. It was warm and loud and I had that good California feeling: where everything is too nice to be real so nothing real can hurt me. You nodded toward the steps to the bleachers and we made our way up. I was embarrassed I didn't know your name. You made me very nervous all of a sudden, because I didn't seem to have the right punchlines to your jokes and grew red with your ribbing. I was so out of sorts, I went for broke and asked if you were hitting on me, figuring that I had a getaway at least. You looked exasperated and said, "yeah, I am!" I died from surprise and pleasure and shock and melted into your chocolate and peanut butter hair. You returned a gale-force intensity lighting up all the circuits inside me. I wanted to surf on the gold speck in your iris so far into you, to the very heart of your whoop-whoop. The primeval first sound. A mating call my DNA knew before I.
Text by SM Simões