Minneapolis Sorry.

Ever notice how people in the Midwest, especially Minnesota, are always sorry for something?  For what are they sorry?  I figure don’t be sorry unless you kill, rape, or steal.  I will try my best to no longer be sorry, sorry for that.

I thought it was a good idea until I forgot to do it, and I realized my mistake while biking to the liquor store.  The Franklin St. liquor store most-likely has the best price on PBR’s.  Most-likely is not most-definitely and when you are down to $10 in your bank account it is important to know most-certainly; however, I would have known most-certainly had I called each and every liquor store in the vicinity, but I was too forgetful to call.  I also found that activity to be a bit desperate and possibly crazy.  I got the beer at the Franklin St. liquor store.  The beer tastes the same either way.  My phone is in my pocket.  Crazy, huh?


The bus teeter-tottered on the limestone cliff.  She was half-naked in the backseat with me.  We had to get off the bus.  It was certainly about to fall into the rocks and water below.  The white foam of the ocean, majestic as it was, became terrifying in the moonlight.  We had come so close to making the fire, the location.  We were less than a mile or so south of the checkpoint.

The sand slid from the cracks in the rock wall below the bus.  I could see we had very little time as the bus slanted to one end.  I fell to the floor and rolled to the back end of the bus, the end closest to the edge of the cliff.  She fell and rolled with me.  I picked her up as I struggled to my feet.  I could hear the sand letting loose.  I could see everything, all of the moments and memories of my life all at once…


She lost the second bet she had made with me, and an hour later she was on all fours telling me sweet things.

I thought the movie was interesting, yet every movie I like she in turn dislikes.  I figure we can’t be the same in every respect; that is kind of why I prefer to stay sane most days, and she prefers to be beautiful and dangerous.  I prefer to look at things and think.  She prefers to look at me and think what the fuck?  I think of what it is made out of, and why it is attractive.  She doesn’t do so much thinking, but assuming.  Why does it do what it does I ask?  -To no response.

I look at the two pale white mounds in front of me as I place my hand on them to feel the warmth.  This is human, I believe.  I think this will happen again after we stop talking and act like we don’t know each other for a while again.

I think about that for a bit, and then I start thinking about myself again.  I think of myself in a canoe in the middle of a lake.

It is pitch-black except for a waning moon and some brilliant stars overhead.  I lean back to examine what is above, and then she hits me back into reality.

I am back in my bedroom listening to her tell me about all the things she wants.  I know she will get them if only she took a look at herself from the inside out.  Maybe she needed to find her canoe.  Maybe she needed to be in the dark for once.  Who knows, she would probably be up a creek without a paddle.  Fuck it.

Everything happens all too fast for her, she puts her hands up to block everything out.  Ha, ha.  I thought it was punctual, but I know there is more in store for later.  After that comes the disappointment, and then we are just friends, and then we are nothing again.  What was I saying, again?

We don’t talk while we touch.  Like machines, we move assessing and calculating, hands following curves to the base of where her thoughts are.  I wonder what she thinks.  She moves her perfect bottom closer and then she has me.  Attached we don’t fight, apart we don’t exist.  I figure this is how God wanted it to be, or how science figured it.

There is a logical equation for this, I am sure of it.  What is the Functional Notation for just fucking someone and not caring at all?  I bet she could write it out.  Indifference.  I could if I wanted to know how much apathy I had inside.  I try to care.  Ironically, I want to be more like her.

So I spent 4 seconds coming up with something universal:


(For me this equation is mostly true, but with no talking in between the hot and cold.)

This happens 3 times in a day and a half.

Her stuff is still here to remind me of the events:  Broken earrings, naughty black dress, roaches, scent on shirts, tupperware; apparently it was made with love.  She says.  Where is the love?  I don’t taste it.  I say.

I can smile now though, I got some cheap PBR’s.


I am convinced I was drinking before waking up to this bus catastrophe, but I am not certain.

I should have called.  My cellphone is vibrating, I must have had a million missed texts, or calls.

The girl, shirtless, holding onto me, I have no idea who she is.  The bus is gone.  I can feel gravity shifting.  Were we upside down?

I lunge forward grabbing the seat-backs in hopes of pulling us to the door.  I reach for the door’s lever and hold on, pulling.  I pull back as hard as I can.  Nothing.  She is holding on tighter now.  The bus’s midsection is almost over.  Two front tires hold.  Click, the door opens.  We jump at the opening…


Uptown today.

While thinking about Uptown today I thought about how it would be just as cool to overdose on heroin while listening to GG Allin, as it was to think about Uptown as a whole.  You know.  Rather than thinking about Uptown think about death, or think about how important Uptown thinks it is as a whole.  Nike.  Think about going outside purchasing some H on the street, and a GG Allin cd from the fetus, and coming home and popping them both in.  My roommates would hate me for it though.  I have better things to do, like shower, or think about showering.  I was too bored at work.  GG Allin was crazy.

People who eat at decent places and leave scraps without getting doggie bags do it because they get whatever they want at home.  I suggest donating doggies bags to the homeless.  That would be progressive, and helpful, and nasty…

Wait nevermind.  Nobody but dishwashers eat leftovers from strangers-I have seen it.  Ha, ha.  Fran. does it.  I used to in 04′, but I stopped cause I am classier than that now.  I guess.


We both hit the sand as the bus slid over the cliff, brief silence, and then ca-splash.  It hit the rocks and the water below.  I collapsed in the sand from exhaustion.  Face full of sand, I lifted my head into my palms.  I stretched out on the sand next to tire tracks that ran over the edge.

I am staring forward.  Just then I see something in the distance.  Someone is walking towards us from a fire that is burning just up the way.  Head in my hands I stare the person down as they come closer.  It is a man holding something, something long.  He paces towards us.  The man reaches us and points the long end of a stick at me, he holds it there for a moment.  I look at the point, and then just up the stick a few inches I notice a slightly burnt wiener.  The man then asks, “Do you want Marshmallows, or wienies?  We got a shit-ton, and you are just in time.”  I look to the girl in complete shock, she looks back at me, and then at the man again and says, “Wienies.”

“Something new everyday.”  -Beast


About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1/191-4788099-1818040?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=terry+scott+niebeling
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2 Responses to Minneapolis Sorry.

  1. korahomes says:

    I recognize that photo. 😛

  2. dirtyterry says:

    you took it miss.

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