strike that

any day now

The guys to my right are talking about Cuba – Sandinistas and Batista and lots of shit they’re getting wrong – and the girls to my left are saying that everyone in Portland is average, and I’m twisted around on my barstool watching the couple play pool: the woman with long curly hair that falls onto the table when she shoots, and the man who looks at her adoringly but is about to win anyway. And I haven’t bought my own beer since the first one, and now I’m scribbling on a napkin, which feels cliché and lame, but it’s too gross to cry in a bar and I can’t go home to my laptop because my housemates are there finding a new housemate right now.

And here I am back home, and the back door was open cause I guess they were showing off the garden, and most of us learn sooner or later that everyone is replaceable, it’s the kind of terrible lesson you wish you’d never learned, but the sooner you learn it the better so that you can get busy forgetting it. It’s a lesson that does no good. I mostly want to puke right now. But I have nothing left in me tonight, not gusto and not goodwill and not the smallest fight.

posted by tortaluga @ 11:06 PM