It’s a tee. It’s a dress. It’s the new Graphic T-shirt Dress.

The Buzz: A New York Tale-Episode 1

I sat with my coffee and just stared. When time and my mind stopped conspiring to calculate how we were possibly going to make it. I took full advantage. Moment enough to actually see how slow the arc of the sunlight perfectly traced her outline. She lay sideways, during one of the hottest summer mornings that just snuck up on me today. “To damn hot. To damn early”, I thought.
The t-shirt sheet had just shifted below the first curve of her ass, while still shadowing the promise of what could be so sweet about her. God, she was beautiful. So perfectly fragile that I wanted to weep. A naive beauty. A naive beauty like that of the 14 year old girl next door that wasn’t aware yet of the power she had over your pubescent desire. But you knew what she was going to become. And you knew it a couple of summers before she did. Maybe that was why I felt guilty for being there. “Fuck!” I should have been glad, for Christ’s sake. I wasn’t. Because I knew I had this insight, this good fortune, that I knew for the life of me wouldn’t last. It’s something a guy just tells himself. “Hey, pal? You know you’ve got no goddamn business bein’ with this chic, right? And you are aware of the fact that it is just a matter of fucking seconds on your watch that this women is going to wake up to the fact that you don’t match her ballroom dress. You clash dude, get over yourself!”
I could live with that. I knew it was gonna crush me. Fuck it. Because this moment. This moment right here. Staring at that perfect form, so fleeting, was worth it. Knowing to myself, with every step I took out in that street that I possessed that body. The night before and the one before that. I took the time to let that morning beam follow her shape all the way down until it highlighted the little toe of her left leg that had ever so slightly fell out of sight behind the other one. The baby toe she hated. It abnormally shot out a good 1/2 inch and if you talked about it or made fun of it she got defensive. That toe was on her short list of imperfections that she contiuously listed when she felt unconfident. That. Her fucking toe! It just made it all the more goddamn, fucking adorable.
I sat in total disbelief trying to make sense of it. How could I bring myself to scar her? To hurt her? To knowingly cause harm to that perfect form. I felt shame. I couldn’t believe she wanted me to shoot her. But, I didn’t want to keep living through this hell anymore than she did. She had convinced me that this could be the perfect way out. I suppose deep down I told myself that after that she would always stay. Isn’t that what you always tell yourself?

The Buzz: A New York Tale-Episode 1

Chad  Bracken

Indianapolis, United States

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

An episodic tale of what one will do to be more than they are.

Artwork Comments

  • ChainmailChick
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