sorry for the jerkiness of the second one

ciorane2  asked:

Barson: 13, “Kiss me.”

They were sitting in Barba’s living room, going through the details of the case they had been working for the last week, when Olivia finally reached the breaking point. “Rafael,” she said, cutting him off in the middle of a sentence about the defendant’s answer tree, and she saw him blink. “I have to ask- are you upset with me?”

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked up from the paperwork in front of him. “Why would I be upset with you?”

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I pass one of these guys on my way home from work every night. He’s outside a car wash, beckoning you to come on in and get that unsightly salt removed from your vehicle. 

Every night I pull up next to him - there’s a light right at the car wash and I always seem to catch it when it’s red - it’s the same thing.

He always seems to be dancing in time to whatever music I’m playing, though he timed up best one really windy night when Beck’s “Tropicalia” was playing. After about three seconds of watching him bend and gyrate, I start to feel sorry for him. Imagine this being your job. Ok, he’s made of some synthetic substance, I get it, but I have a tendency to give life to object. Ever since I thought my stuffed bunny was real. 

So I sit there feeling bad for him. Just waving around in the wind, being pushed around helplessly, his life nothing but jerky movements that get him nowhere, doomed to stand in the same place forever, waving his arms around while maintaining that smile. 

The light turns green and I give a small wave to the crazed dancer as I continue my journey home. I think about him for most of the ride, wondering what it’s like to be in constant movement but never getting anywhere, how it feels to be twisted and turned by outside forces and not being able to get away from it, your life just one impotent push after another.

We are all wavy arm man.