absence versus thin air
Waking up this morning was painful.
Aparently, I had left Patio on Friday without tipping Nick - the new weekend bartender fella from Australia.
I showered, gathered my things, and prepared to wander the streets, but first I had to stop by the bar and give Nick a twenty. If I hope to continue drinking there for free I must kick down for the bartenders.
So there was Eric and he was happy to see me. The end of the story is that he tried to pick me up to spin me around, and I braced myself against him. He backed up from me and slowly observed my defensive posture, and it was like a little black rain cloud descended and in that moment he knew that I reciprocated none of his interest.
I really hate having to offer solid, seemingly unfounded dissapointment to a man with good credentials.
He became short and cold and I left feeling a little heavy.
My hands trembled and were cold from the hangover, and my head was cloudy and disjointed, and my heart was beating irregularly.
I stepped out onto the corner of Second and Second and called Maggie, and then I called Muriah, and at seven o'clock this evening I realized I had walked all the way to Penn Station on 33rd Street.
I think that equates roughly forty blocks.
It was misty with rain.
Modest Mouse all the way to the house, and out into the rain, and a mile to the house, and still the album played.
Walking, smoking, thinking, soaking wet.
I watched the 90210 Reunion show tonight.
I'm sick of myself, but that's the story with hangovers, right?
