Saturday, August 22, 2009

My 27th Birthday

She’s trying to show off “the goods” in the best possible light. That light is alcohol, neon, and Prince’s “Little Red Corvette.” I’m lit and nursing a double of Maker’s Mark on the rocks. She wants to pick up some mediocre shithead with no sense of identity. She might not realize it but that’s what she’s shopping for here. It’s not her fault. It’s not what she explicitly wants. That’s just all there are - mediocre shitheads. And there are a lot of them. We’ve come to the right place for that. Shallow, pretentious, fashionista wannabes, art school flunkies, assorted failures, and miscellaneous people that don’t realize they live in Pittsburgh. Motherfucking Pittsburgh.She’s absolutely beautiful, though. She always is. I don’t need to be drunk to see that, but I am anyway. She undercut herself when she walked into this bar. She fancies herself some sort of party girl or socialite. Which, of course, she isn’t. We work together and are friends. My wife is here too. My wife’s the driver and she’s not oblivious, drinking, or jealous. She knows. She has given me her blessing, as I would never pursue “the goods” without it. Given that, I haven’t lost the pursuit yet, but she’s above sleeping with a married man. Though she knows I’m attracted to her and I believe the feeling is mutual.

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