time travel is lonely!

[Luz Cresceno]

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Private observations sprung up at his theft – from history, from a time when skater boys roamed the earth and said ‘gnarly’ unto thee – yet not a one dealt with shock at a facial scar, with the mystery that erupts from a single covered eye, or even Queen Victoria’s underpinnings. Her thoughts made small geometries, springing and colliding and waving fists, around a comeliness he possessed that did not touch her but passed slowly by as stunted scrutiny. (Luz Cresceno blamed it all on the acutely throbbing temples.) Such were her daily dalliances with male features; they amused and puzzled by turns, and sometimes shocked with their allusions to female wares, since so much masculine allure had been tempered with angled cheek bones, big eyes, the romance of unkempt curls. Too often now she found that she could even get a quick heart-race from a he-wolf in bad lighting. Did these things deal with Shakadyn? Yes and no. Her thoughts scuttled, as thoughts are wont to do, and fled beetle-like from logic’s pruning. A second laugh, a rare sound from the astronomer when spurred by mere words. Folly earned folly. Some were shocked when Luz leaped from slight banter to full-frontal silliness, but she couldn’t resist caprice when it was dressed so temptingly, so deliciously, so foppishly in fringe and monochrome. His poetry inspired a coy tilt of the head, a curling of hands beside her head, as if only droll thoughts lived there instead of the thunderous beginnings to a mighty headache. “My druthers are to leave such questions wandering, preferably ever and anon. But for manner’s sake, call me Hodge-Podge, and I’ll call you Buster.” A few movements of ape-ish dexterity found her risen from her sidewalk disgrace, and though she examined the dirt-splotches along vest and trousers, she didn’t do a thing about them. They actually earned more pleasure than attention. “So quick to help a lady up, Buster,” she commented mid-examination, glancing at him eye-corner style (and quite comforted by the camouflage long eyelashes afforded in these situations), “it makes one blush.” The truth below the sarcasm? Luz would have refuted such a hand, not even wasting a slap on wrist or knuckle, and risen all on her own any ways. But she did so love a good barb.

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