I Feel Great

 Margo got me into a party last night, she blew out her hair for around 20 minutes, it was raining outside, I didn't like that being practical cracked to chivalry but someone had to open the car door first, we got to the party and she said the Frank Sinatra impersonator was lurking on the 30th with threesome vibes and then there was some other man lurking for the same reason the day before. I tried to pick up on whatever anyone said in the stalls, it wasn't up to much, I said to someone's parent, thumbing my nose at their kid, my boy wouldn't be up for this, I showed her a photo of him asleep on the porch from several hours ago, he wouldn't last the course, I said. I felt like I was being charming with a stranger at my table but just couldn't keep the conversation going, we all counted down, it was the best, I tipped well and I thought about how I always have to feed off of these places as an excuse not do anything myself. I mean, I dunno. Blind ambition, it's not for me. If I could just forget about blind ambition, I could probably get some things done, empty some drawers, maybe throw out one thing from the basement once a week for the rest of my life.

Brooke never understood why I didn't want to talk to a man who followed me out of a caff one time in Hanwell: I had thought, well, don't shit in your own bed, I never understood her ambition but I was scared to lose what she had and what I still don't have, which was a degree of proximity to the kind of party I was at last night, but quite honestly, at this point I'm fine with just sitting here, still coming down and listening to Laraaji laugh and drinking a beer someone left in the fridge last week, knowing my eyes will be shut fifteen minutes from now and not really feeling anything other than great.