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I woke up at four in the mourning. it was probably because I went to bed at eight and because of the cats or because it was the day I injected the results of suffering mice into my belly so I wouldn't be a fat pig - as much.
and I thought of hotel 45 and the first time you fucked me, and I wanted to write it again even though I've probably already written about it. I wonder if I'll ever read more than my top fifteen of this opus I've written about you. You'll probably say I'm using opus wrong, and I'd love the chance to say fuck you to your ass.
king Leon, PLACEHOLDER, timing it perfectly, a dipshit, a voided attachment, opium, on second defecation, self-owning automatic trees, rummage... those are the ones I read and regurgitate the most - and squeezing lemons and busted epiphany and running mutations and nadir my dear...
but I'll probably write it better than I wrote it before. why not fucking try. it's cold today. I'm wearing the sweater my mom bought me, and I might go to wilmington in a fortnight for a party. fuck you chum.
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she played the text game and remembered how sally the cocaine comedienne first clued her into the truth behind clever texting - the thought behind it. Narcissi was well into this shit. she was trying to reel in the big one. she LIKED this guy.
they had discussed/flirted with baseball and softball and macon's bacon and she was so nervous his reference to a 'softball lob' went right over her furrowed brow. she texted the only thing that mattered, the vulnerable thing,
"when will I see you again?"
he immediately texted back, "how about this weekend."
it was all so easy with him and it flowed, like the globe first date. she was so fucking in.
"yes."
and they arranged to meet at high tales in the hotel he had booked with his titanium mega status. it was rooftop - hence the pun.
he didn't seem to like to text all that much once logistics were nailed, and she was fine with it. she preferred banter, but she knew she was lonelier and she respected other modes.
(a hummingbird just rejected the pink geraniums. narcissi must commit to native plants)
so, she texted him next after a few days, "I'm here, but I brought a book. take your time."
"you're at hightails?"
"yes"
he came. she used her local's card to order drinks and never got it back. they sat on the deck. they went to the tiki bar afterwards. she was lugging her heavy satchel because she had insisted on bringing trivial pursuit: the genus edition - and he didn't seem to want her in his room. she thought maybe he was chaste.
she didn't know him well.
they went to dinner. she forgets where - maybe the Mexican place. they ended up in the hotel room and got through a few questions of trivia. she was pretty sure she wasn't going to put out, but she remembers the game board sliding off the bed and him crawling from the foot of the bed into her vagina in one swift move. later, he was proud of noting he was a raw dawg-er. she was fine with it. most everyone she fucked, she always considered it the last person she'd fuck. she was picky like that usually.
she had made him oatmeal cookies because she had wanted to feed him love. she had the number 13 tattooed on her hand from a long time ago. She would tell anyone who asked the meaning but no one ever asked. If she did the hand sign for four, it was like his birthday was tattooed on her hand. she gulped all the signs neat.
and the next morning, she sidled into him, through this weird concoction of him being surrounded by every pillow but hers. she would later call it his pillow fort, or maybe she named it then. He knocked the pillows away and said, "get in here" and they cuddled and probably fucked. he talked about working out and staying for late check in but didn't invite her. she put her clothes on and said out loud. "I wonder if I'll ever see you again." it was her fear screaming - she liked him. she liked him more than eight years of fucking Andrew. she didn't know yet that she would...
and later he texted her, "I'm up for something today if you're not sick of me yet."
She texted, "how about you pick me up, we go get fresh air barbecue then come back to my place and watch pretentious movies."
she had already told him her only tv was criterion.
he texted back, "sounds great. what's the radio station around here."
she texted, "100.9"
he showed up. "I notice you have a ford car."
She had been so embarrassed about her shit fifty million years old junker car, but he said, "it's sexy you're not in debt."
"well, it was terrifying to get out of it, but I'm free now."
they watched 'the trip' with Steve Coogan and rob Brydon.
they fucked that night. they probably went to downtown macon again. she reached in to cuddle with him again, and he repelled her. She quickly said, "can we cuddle". he replied "for how long."
she adjusted.
until she couldn't anymore.
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