There’s nothing to talk about
she doesn’t read books
and I’m not handsome
plus she’s drunk
and without cocaine
her mood darkens
“You’re always wasted,” I tell her
“I’ll cut down,” she says, “just let me
do it my way.”
She brightens talking about sex
which figures since
she’s a bona fide nymphomaniac
(I thought I got lucky finding her
and I did
but so did the majority
of waiters in North Beach)
“I broke my hand this morning,”
she says
“How’d you do that?”
“Jerking off,” she laughs
then she quiets down again
She broke her hand
and I’d say she also
broke my heart
but that would be
bullshit.
Advertisements
