Ground control

The man who ordered a Captain and Coke last night is in my bathroom. I can’t really even explain how this came to be other than the fact that I was still upset about the Vincent thing and drinking obscene amounts of Jack Daniels while on duty. I don’t even drink Jack Daniels! I know bartenders are infamous for this pastime, drinking with the customers and all, but I generally don’t participate. I find that my drinks are strong but still taste better when I’m not intoxicated, which make for better tips. Anyone can make a strong drink that tastes like shit.

But last night there was no stopping me. I was on a mission or something. This man came up like Ron Johnson from Fast Times asking me for a drink and my phone number and I laughed in his face. As you can see, he was pretty persistent. He wore wingtips, played Nico on the jukebox and gushed about Henry Miller as if he were an ex-lover. So that definitely helped.

I feel unkind now; it’s really not that he’s bad looking or anything; I’m just not the type that does this sort of thing.

I could use the lame excuse card; say that this was exactly what I needed. But it’s not, at all. Vincent still has not spoken to me. I think this is the longest time we’ve gone without talking since the day I found him, passed out on the hood of my car with an erection, on Halloween six years ago. There are days I want to call him but then I think, ‘No, this isn’t my fault, I did nothing wrong, he was the one that got fresh first and enraged second.’ On second thought, he might just be extremely embarrassed. But that usually isn’t enough to keep him away this long.

Perhaps something’s happened. Maybe he’s sick, or in the hospital, or got hit by a taxicab downtown drunkenly stumbling out from the bars. This may sound like a stretch but it’s happened. Twice. Oh, I worry so!

This man, he’s apparently singing in the shower. He’s singing Space Oddity! Holy hell, this was a mistake if I ever made one. Who sings in a stranger’s shower? I certainly hope he doesn’t think this is going to turn into some kind of regular thing or something. But wouldn’t he just collect his belongings and leave if his intentions were of the one-night-stand variety? I cannot do this; these kinds of things don’t work for me. If he comes out and asks me if I want to have lunch, I am going to tell him I’m married. That’s it. Just separated for a spell, trying to work things out. Perfect.

You know, though, he’s sounding an awful lot like David Bowie in there…


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