Why I Rarely Go Out: A short essay
A posted quote that I just read reminded me of this short story from some time back. For the delicate of ears or the tender of age, I will play Ira Glass and say, "there might be content that is inappropriate for younger listeners."
"I am sorry," said unapologetically, "did you say beer and cocaine?"
"Yes, well, not like every day, like, a couple times a year." She used like, like a lot and I refuse to include every usage. That was the part of her that, like, troubled me. The other shoe if you will. It was easy to look at her, damn so easy, twirled she did in my eyes, I was sweating in a tee, the heat and her, well, everything. And she had a silky smooth deep aquaesk scarf tightly tucked into a hipster jacket with a beautiful bubble curving out from her coat line everytime she popped her hip.. She would have done well in a 20s speakeasy with that dark cropped hair oh, it was too easy to speak to her. But cocaine.
She said how 80s of her and I told her that it was a friends favorite high never to be done twice because sweet Mamma Cocaine he said, was desired again; quickly. Now he is in rehab. Like what would happen if guys could have multiple orgasms, what else would we do? I didnt tell her that, but my mind started to wonder. Around and around she twirled as did my body, she became but a caricature of a pretty party girl and I slipped away back into the night, back into a life of delicate balance. Boy, man, father, friend, artist, teacher.
