He orders a beer. The woman next to him says, Great shoes. He says, My feet look better with them off. And then she wonders why she bothers.
Tagged: Guys (1,814)
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The dogs won’t stop barking. I throw them treats and still they won’t stop. She’s not coming back! I tell them. And then I start barking too.
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The men are here, yelling the rough poetry of yelling men, of bravado masquerading as honesty, consuming their way to a pained civilization.
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The sun bathes the park in gold. She lays the blanket down. Isn’t it beautiful? she asks. It is, I can’t deny that, but it’s still a picnic.
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The end came. Quickly. Inevitably. She hurried out, and didn’t look at me. She couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. I hadn’t even shown her my pet turtle.
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I ordered a cocktail and told her my story and when she couldn’t stop yawning she said, Did you spike my drink? but the truth is I’m boring.
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She listens as I hyperventilate into the phone about last night’s gutsucking game, the arcane knowledge I possess of things that aren’t her.
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The insurance man speaks of liabilities and I say, You’re a liability, and then I light a smoke and play with broken glass and then he cries.
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I reached for more meatloaf and felt her disapproval. How fat can I get before you stop wanting me? I asked. Then I realized it was too late.
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The ham smelled bad but I made a sandwich anyway. I’m feeling philosophical, I thought, spreading the mustard. I took a bit. Then I felt ill.
