It may be out of sheer loneliness, but my attraction to this waitress, ‘A’, is growing. I’m happy she’s working tonight. Just so I can look at her. She’s young- I bet she’s 23 or 24. Ha. Last night I was all about JH. I wonder when I’ll see her next. I stop writing for a second so I can eavesdrop on a neighboring couple at a table on my right who are ordering some late night fare. I look up casually- trying to catch an eyeful of A but I just miss her. I’m always missing someone.
I start to feel like I’m in a movie like the one they’re shooting down the street. That these conversations happening around me can’t possibly be real. But I am wiser than that. I know well that I am just another player on the stage.
Long, dark hair, half-way down her back. ‘A’ wears a red patterned dress, crimped just above her breasts. She’s got long gray socks on and if I thought I could stare for one second longer without her noticing I would tell you what kind of shoes she’s got on.
“Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen…” a patron seated on my right mimics Sean Connery from an Alcatraz movie. I used to be a winner. I also used to be a despicable swine. Worth the trade
These conversations become even more surreal. Of course, I’m totally normal, right? You know, if I didn’t have to work tomorrow I’d probably be in a bar somewhere drinking whiskey and people-watching. Maybe scribbling a bit here and there. Mostly longing for some kind of human contact.
Gray boots. Same color as the socks. Maybe it’s that I’m not in love with one woman. That would make more general sense. I’m in love with woman. Each different beauty takes turns representing her gender in front of my eyes… my hands… my mouth… and oh my arms.
