Dec. 28th, 2009

thewordofweb: (bleh by riceball)
In the grand tradition of love-lost, I've found myself a drink, a dark and dank area, and a good block of hours in which to spend my time devoting a love letter to a strong drink that's never going to love me so much as I'm going to use it and then throw it away in minutes, like a wad of tissue that's served its purpose. The scotch is strong at the jazz club and the music is incessantly annoying, giving me a headache, but it's better than drinking alone and it's better than drinking with someone who knows me.

God forbid we have to talk, then. So instead, there is this. And maybe I let my eye wander here and there, where it will. Maybe I just can't help myself and maybe I'm looking to punish myself, as though Joe's vanishing is all my fault. What does it matter, really? All I know is that I have a good strong drink and the weather outside is frightful, so there's no going out to sea.

There's just being here.

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thewordofweb

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