End’s Not Here - Indian Summer
[ the taste of last night’s tacos and malört ]
He had a hang nail on his neck, and we laughed. I poked my finger into his burger just like he had once swirled his in my mashed potatoes and gravy. I just haven’t outgrown the urge to do such things in public, dip my finger in his food that is. Besides it had looked like the cook or someone in the kitchen had already taken notice of the fact that the way the bun was placed on the patty and plate that a meaty, cheesy, drippy smiley face had been created. We laughed. All of us except her. She texted. Sad eyes, kind eyes. Prior to that I had waited impatiently for their text message which would reveal to me and my tapping feet where they might be. Prior to that he and I shared several drinks. He had just gotten off a flight and visited his local bar. One of several. I had been in bed for three straight days, not interested in getting up for anything other than a shit, a shower, some food and a cig. The rest of the time was spent priming my back to be sore from the long hours in bed. It’s funny how when someone goes they leave a feeling in the air. We share similar thoughts and beliefs and disagree on a shit ton of others. He scolded me in the car. I tried to come up with three really good lies. The last of which I tried super hard on and in the end gave out a big smile in between words and blew it. I have a strange desire to get really good at bending the truth, not in ways that amazing criminals do, but in ways that great story tellers make things up. I am not sure why not telling the truth comes to mind first, when in fact it is just great story telling that I would like achieve. Perhaps when I undress from this hangover I could better explain. This will be my third time in a month, rather in the last two weeks, ordering pizza, delivered. First on my list of things to do…. start a new list of things to do.