Judgement/The First Story

    I just wanted to say, I hate making assumptions about people, putting them into categories. I hate when people assume that I am something I'm not, and I don't want to do that to other people.
  (just fyi I broke the index finger on my left hand so, my typing is not the best if I make mistakes please forgive me.)

     Here's a story!

         Cluttered Places

 There's an old antique store on the highway. It's just a bit closer to town than the football field. C and I would walk there on hot sweaty days, full of dehydration and excited laughter. The building is long and tall, with junk and hidden wonders piled as high as the ceiling. The free standing piles are taller than me, and even taller than C. When we walk through the narrow pathways, we get lost easily and everything seems to be filled with magic and nostalgia. The air is thick and filled with dust, bringing the inhaler out of C's pocket. Everything we touch is brittle with age and non-use. The floor underneath our feet alternates between dirt covered concrete and dirt covered cloth that has fallen and no one bothered to pick up. 

 There's one aisle that is directly in front of an old air-conditioner and is freezing cold. We sit on baskets of yarn and breathe in the musty air an feel it's coldness collide with our sweaty skin. We share whispered laughs even though the owner is miles away from where we sit. Everything is dirty and secret, no one can hear our talk or judge how we miss our childhood as we gaze at ancient kids' meal toys. Everything is perfect in that piled high cluttered building. We stroll around until the high fluorescent lights begin to moan and shut off, and we make our lazy winding way through the makeshift aisles and emerge into the bright outside world, once more thrust from our little dirty heaven.