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SONG - WEST END KIDS - NEW POLITICS

*finished hitting laziness like a wrecking ball and updated*

The next few days were considerably warmer. It was moving towards the middle of July and the season was at its very peak which meant looser clothing and sandals. A nice change from the harsh frosty bites of January and February. Zen had gone to visit his Dad for the day which meant that I won't see him until the next day.

Ever since his mother died, they'd grown closer surprisingly. In high school it wasn't always that way since Zen never hid his estrangement from his father especially since Mr. Philips wasn't exactly fond of that fact that his son liked Art better than football.

When Mrs. Philips died, their animosity towards each other gradually melted away since apparently, there was nothing like grief to bring two people together.

Doris was back in LA with no obvious plans of coming back until after a week except one of us managed to burn the house or something.

That left me alone with Ulrich for about twenty four hours. My luck was indescribable. Ever since he apologized a few nights ago, the only words he spoke to me whenever we saw were "Is there any juice?" funnily enough; it seemed strange to me that broody popular writers also drank juice like us normal humans instead of some strange nectar bestowed on them by the literary deities.

Or "The Wi-Fi isn't running. Is there a problem?" the signal was glitched for about 7 minutes, but those were the tensest 7 minutes of my life. And my personal favorite "You play too much Nirvana. I'm trying to concentrate." Oh I just dared him to make one degrading statement about Kurt Cobain's voice...

Above all that he remained quite distant and somewhat respectful. The glaring had reduced drastically much to my relief also. His actions weren't exactly my definition of civil but it was better than in the beginning. I could do this.

After all it was only until the summer ended.

Then we would never see each other again and I'd make Doris sign a waiver stating that she couldn't make any of her clients into the cabin when I was around again. She'd probably roll her eyes like a cunt but that wasn't the point.

Tucking my Ray Bans firmly on top of my head, I exited my Prius and locked the door. I loved this car. It was my pride and joy. A little strange since most people usually christen classic restored cars or expensive sports machines as their babies. For me, my Prius was a symbol of my independence. The first car I bought after my divorce. My wild symbol of independence was marked by an eco-friendly hybrid.

Philip loved cars that were flashy interpretations of mid-life crises so the Prius naturally drove him insane. That earned one point in my favor.

I hummed walking into the supermarket, trolley squeaking in front of me. Since Zen wasn't coming home tonight, the mantle of cooking dinner now sadly rested upon my shoulders. At first I panicked a little since Ulrich never complained about Zen's cooking (homeboy was practically Jamie Oliver wrapped in jock-ish American form) but he had obviously never sampled any of my cooking before so there was fear that the transition might be....obvious.

Now I wouldn't go as far as to call myself a bad cook. My mac and cheese has proven to be quite edible over the years and my grilled cheese and tomato soup was quite delicious according to everyone I knew.

The down side was that my cooking expertise had stopped there. Give me anything else and I'd bomb it for you. Seriously. It's like apart from those two meals my brain was retrogressed to naturally fuck up anything else considered food.

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