and lifes not blowin her kisses thanks to you...

I felt the can slip from my fingers as though it suddenly was covered with jello and could no longer be confined to grasp of my hand. The brown liquid spilled forth from the can, it too hating the containment of its surroundings. As it oozed through my jeans to find me, my skin felt suddenly cold, and the dark stain which appeared on the washed denim stood out like a streak of ink across a perfectly white paper. It fizzed upon contact. I glanced down with apathy at the scene before me, in which I and the can of Dr. Pepper were the main figures (well, and the contents of the can, if you want to get technical about it). A sigh escaped my lips as I reached down to regain my control of the renegade can. The cool metal was now wet and somewhat sticky, and as I stood, I noticed that the brown liquid had found its way to the chair beneath me and was seeping into the cushions. I wiped the remainder on my jeans as I trudged to bathroom in search of papertowels. Shoving open the door, I quickly located the items to be procured and shoved a large wad of them into my open backpack, all the while using a handful to soak up the liquid penetrating my clothing. Back at the chair, my efforts were utterly futile to make amends with the chair cushions. The damage had already been done. I sighed again and plopped back down. The other occupants of the room may have eyed me with amusement, some with mocking, and perhaps a few even with pity, but I do not remember. All I remember is that my eyes looked out those windows, my thoughts were a million miles away again, and I was once again a disaster waiting to happen.