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She couldn't figure it out. She had to be the coolest person at lunchtime on President's day in the Mexican restaurant in a mid-level town south of Atlanta. She might not be the most beautiful, but she was sure she was in the top three. She was the only one reading Joan Didion. In fact, she was the only one reading.
Most of them of course weren't dining alone.
Why was she?
Why had he rejected her again and again when she was someone he should like.
It never made sense to her, and she never tired of asking why.
She was like that quote that maybe Vonnegut had.
"man's got to wonder why why why"
And he had been kind of a womanizing cad as she told you.
Didion fucked with her mind.
She got under there and messed with all the nuances.
The orange cat jumped in the window and then decided to go back down.
She was sure it was all going to mean nothing, but she wasn't going to try without a fight.
The lover had been shot in the book and the wife had been wearing a borrowed pink cashmere sweater from the daughter.
Narcissi just wanted to feel
like someone saw her
and liked it.
but not just anyone.
someone cool.
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