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She had gone to the fancy historic society party. There were tons of blazers that repeated and a few sequins.
none of it mattered.
She lasted about twenty minutes. It felt intimidating and like she was the only one single.
The venue was hot and unhistoric, and the food wasn't great, and the booze did not flow like she expected. She went to the Rose room afterwards and of course thought of the time he had thought it was so stupid that this was the most pretentious bar in macon.
She drove home - thankful she hadn't paid the $40 for cabs, and she wept all the way home.
Actually, it was sobbing - keening.
She knew no one in this town. She was never going to know anyone, and she was going to die alone.
he didn't love her
he had never loved her.
she looked like a fat older lady with streaking makeup teary eyes
and witch hair.
it sucked.
the fucking cats she didn't want to own were all over her.
She opened a beer when she got home.
getting fatter.
getting sadder.
getting it over with.
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