bouer hockey

The fountain serves as some place Irsquo;m bound to run into someone.
��� I walked towards it and even with the glare of the sun, even with the strange violet sky and the oddness of the day, I saw him sitting there, squinting his eyes, hand shielding the sunlight and I think how itrsquo;s been a couple of weeks and how strange it is to feel as though you miss someone you barely know and that barely knows you yet yoursquo;ve missed them just the same.
��� And slouched there by the fountain, legs in torn jeans sprawled on the concrete I think, whatrsquo;s so god damn special about you? Why does everyone secretly envy you so much? What is it, I want to know. Itrsquo;s the mystery that everyone wants, the idea of the forbidden fruit, the untouchable. And then later that afternoon I am sitting on the bench on the main drag and there he is, that ungraspable ghost sitting on the opposite bench 40 feet down from me. He walks over to the autumn olive berry bush with Ian and sees me as I walk by and jerks his head, motions his hand and says, ldquo;You, come here.rdquo;
��� And so I obey, like I always would because refusing attention from someone who is always just out of reach is unfathomable. He points to the berries. ldquo;Do you eat these?rdquo; ldquo;Yeah,rdquo; I reply. He looks down at the berries in his hand, pops one in his mouth and then put his cupped hand to my lips and pours the rest of the berries in my mouth. Instead of pulling away I stand there, and let his hand brush my lips and all I can think is, god I am so glad they arenrsquo;t chapped right now.

bouer hockey, bouer skates, bouer war, boueri.