Saturday, February 20, 2010

Drinking Like Sunday Morning

The rain fell on me like yesterdays breakfast. I was hoping for an early flight but only found an easy reason for mourning. I drank as much as they would give me but was back in New York and barely knew I had felt like I was under anesthesia. I put my bags at a friend’s house and quickly sat myself at the old local bar. It took him 20 minutes to leave and lock me out for ever. I moved in to an old bartender's house who later usurped herself as my lover and went on my quest to be a flown in employee for a future I would not expect. I showed up in poor shoes and horrible clothes only to be sent back in shame. Shame was something I was good at however because it was the only thing that fit me well and I did not have to adjust it to my frame. I went to work and toiled back and forth trying to find my rhythm until it found me. In the supply closet, not looking for supplies, she came upon me in tight pants with a light smile and I coalesced. The first date was a night in a dingy bar that had couches that were made for dingy sessions. Days led to evenings. Her obsession became my demise. I slowly moved in with her and into her. But it took enormous feats like scaling walls and jumping ropes to make it last. At the end, we were naked on rooftops and killing ants. This was the beginning of the best days of my life.

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