How quickly a dream turns into one. A bad night’s sleep. An ill timed message. An ill considered comment.
Zip zap zoop.
It’s for the best.
Everybody else at work can’t stop talking about how handsome my shaved face is. What in the sweet fuck is it.
One day I’ll find out.
Sometimes I do catch her staring. Is it second thoughts? Does she see something they don’t?
It’s too late now anyway. I sent her an email, to her work email of all places, saying sorry to make shit weird and I’m getting another job and don’t tell that to the boss and I will be curteous from now on (I started violently looking away in her prescence, then she started doing the same).
I need a map reader.
Tomorrow we apply to the armed forces as a gunner.
I’m not trying to be cute. Whenever I see her prescence I feel a physical pain in my stomach.
It’s for the best. She would have gotten a tiny snippet of my life in one of those long walks, gone “oh, wow,” then texted me later saying she’s not ready and this and that.
That’s what was fun about Nazi girl. There was some unstated rule that we would never talk about my past. I think I was more phantasy / daemon to her than actual person. Much was enjoyable about that young lady.
I guess she’s not that young anymore. I wonder how she feels about that.
Maybe she got out. Maybe she found a decent guy. It’s not impossible.
I just wanted a normal girl, criss de tabarnak. Paulita.
Paulita with the sweetest eyes I ever saw that much depth in.
The rocker chick who hates rock.
Little Indian girl.
What will become of you, then?
“It’s not your problem, it’s not your problem,” that’s not the point. I’m a poet, the world is my problem.
There’s not much in general to recommend young people’s future today. In a skynet Matrix with teddy bear asthetics. Will she find some empty vessel of a non man? Will she become a clerk maid, feeling somehow robbed at 40?
Maybe she finds a man. There are few, but they exist. One that does not remind her of home.
I don’t know. Why do I care.
Oh I’m only pretending to care about her. Yeah fuck you, you’re a knowitall.
Some beer swilling fuckface. Get fat at 40. Sighing at don’t-know-what at sunsets.
But at least he’s predictable. A known quantity. Knows the procedures and follows them.
He’s not some degenerate ADD asshole who’s either 100 or 0.
What did she see, I wonder? How did it look like from her side?
What sickness will I claim tomorrow?
Insecurity is what she saw. That is the truth that hurts so much In don’t want to admit it.
But it’s that.
She does deserve more.
Meanwhile I gotta get the fuck outta here.
I don’t like this town. It’s a little too international. Of course I didn’t come here for the people. And soon I will have my bike.