Québec
4 April 1992 (10:43 pm) Manhattan, Saint Mark’s

The first we meet, Moresmile wears a thin silver bracelet, clinks to the wooden bar, tinks to the glass her drink down.  tink.  tink-clink.  each clink-tink jolts through me.  she’s smiles.  i feel a begger, but Moresmile thumps melons mine grocer.  what’s i like?  clink.  tink.  she but puts at ease me.  she is not that intimidating pure happy.  the smiles come but there’s more travel there too.  there’s enough life antsy to agree to a blind and comfort alone, but she’s still livingandbreathing.  after an age you want a second head pillowed some nights.  dreams don’t fill up the bed.

“So.  What do you do, for a living I mean?”

“What a dull question Sam.  Don’t you mean:  Do I like my job?  Was it a first choice?  Is my every day filled with plans for the future?”

“Well no.  Just what do you do?”

“I work.”

“Fair enough.”

“What don’t you do Sam?”

“Sorry?”

“Just what I said.  What don’t you do?”

“That I wish I did?”

“Not necessarily.”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Yes you do.”

“What don’t you do?”

“I don’t usually drink.  See?  Easy enough.  What don’t you do Sam?”

“I don’t usually meet anyone in here.”

“Okay.  I don’t remember what I had for breakfast.”

“I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

“I don’t straighten my hair.”

“I don’t floss enough.”

“I don’t sing in the shower.”

“Never?”

“Never once Sam.”

“I don’t call my boss by her first name.”

“I don’t like cashews.”

“I don’t like this bar.”

“Why are you here then?”

“I don’t want to leave yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

the air stills.  the last sound a punch sucker with me not sure why i rounded the house.  think but i’ve said too much, but Moresmile,

“That didn’t take much to unearth.”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t usually blurt things like that out.  I think I’ve had too much to drink again.”

Moresmile hands run along the sides, tiny sharp indentations in the bar.    i stand.  i don’t know why.  i almost speak and don’t.  she stands, faces me.  i am coiled into the floor, balancing on knees driven through feet i don’t feel anymore.

“If we stand here too long Sam, you might lose your nerve.”

navigate between pages with arrows in top left corner