This post is the first in my Z-A challenge. Read ’bout that here.
Disclaimer: All views expressed in these posts are views of the letters involved. Not of the writer herself.
Z’s full name is Zebedee Ziplenz, but his friends call him Zee for short.
Zee is suave, urban, collected, and cool. He oozes out coolness. He’s a guy of few words; he listens partially while a lively conversation is taking place, and is partially aloof, trying to remember if he still has herbal tea at home. Zee doesn’t drink coffee. He vowed to never participate in addictions of any kind. Coffee is addictive. Therefore Zee refuses to drink coffee. Zee also hates coffee stained teeth. He’s also petrified of teeth cleanings.
Now Zee drops an extremely witty remark into the conversation, witty, fitting, concise and funny. Everyone laughs and thinks, “Man, Zee is such a wonderful guy!” Everybody loves Zee, because he makes himself scarce. He leaves everybody wanting more of his time. He leaves the conversation now. He has to go buy herbal tea, but everybody is sure he’s off to save the world or something important like that. But if Zee is going to buy tea, then tea is important like that.
Zee is a writer. He has his own column in an average sized city. Actually, he lives in Normal, Illinois. He’s happy with his job, he has satisfied his childhood dream at a young age, and is quite satisfied. Perhaps someday he will travel the world, or write a book. But for now he’s enjoying the present.
Zee wears grey denim pants rolled up once, only once because if you roll up it up once and half you cross the line into douchbagastan. He wears a black and white striped v-necked t-shirt underneath his black H&M blazer. He wears black Vans with that. Oh, and Ray Bans. Black Ray Bans. Zee likes black. If he were an animal, he’d be a black panther. Quiet, clean, and simple. Oh and black.
Zee writes about stuff. Deep stuff, kinda like the guy who writes “The Oatmeal”. On weekends, Zee attends small private parties where he astounds the older folks present with his insight and wiseness. They have respect for Zee. His coworkers are young, like he is, and are jealous. But they admit it. Zee is cool. They respect him too.
He’s a great guy. Not a “fun” guy, unless you count religiously searching thrift shops and music stores for vintage records fun. Zee collects records.
Interesting enough, Zee isn’t a wannabe photographer or an art enthusiast. No, he appreciates them, sure, but they’re just not his “thing”. His “thing” rather, is reading. Zee loves to read.
On weekends, he slips out of those private social gatherings in which people converse quietly and clink their champagne glasses and laugh amiably and sickeningly and use big words, to read a book in the park during sunset. I don’t know what Zee reads. Frankly I just have no idea what a letter like this would read. Fitzgerald? Hemingway? Somebody waaay cool. I’ve probably never even heard of them.
Zee likes grapes and cantaloupe. If someone says fried Twinkie, he will throw up.