City Sinners

Vignettes of loneliness in manhattan

The Drought

He was a desert, and what she had seen in him, a mirage.

She desperately needed to find water.

TriBeCa

I found out that I didn’t get a job that I didn’t want very much yesterday. I was calling it my “ticket out,” as my current job is more than unbearable. Because of this, and because I’m probably an alcoholic, I decided to get trashed on $18 cocktails at work drinks hosted by said current job.

One cocktail in, I told my coworkers that I would win in one of those who can hold their hand the longest on a car to win the car competitions because I “don’t mind being dirty.”

Two cocktails in, I texted my ex-friends with benefits asking what he was doing. When he responded that he was staying in, I called him and giggled for 10 minutes until he said it was time for him to go to sleep.

By the fourth cocktail, there were five of us left and we decided to karaoke. More likely than not, this was my suggestion. When I am drunk I enjoy hogging a microphone and enthusiastically mumbling into it, which is exactly what I did.

This morning I woke up in my underwear with a massive hangover, so I ate a fettuccine Lean Cuisine at 8:30 am.

Untitled.

You are full and vibrant and I love you I love you.

I love you.

Small kiss. Sweet kiss.

The way you hold my hand. How you undress me.

Rest your head on my calves. Tell me your stories. I know you.

Nose crinkled. Those looks. That laugh. I can feel you here. You’re here.

Stop.

You’re there. You were there.

I’m dreaming. Wrap your arms around me. When I wake you’ll be gone.

Small kiss. Sweet kiss. It’s fading.

The way you laugh. That laugh. Your touch. I’m beginning to forget.

I love you.

You’re a silhouette.

Say goodbye before you disappear.

Summer Morning Sunlight

It was so nice to see your smile this morning.

You, standing there in your white button up, five-o’clock shadow, head tilted slightly, gazing at me, softly, confidently, knowingly.

When I opened my eyes, It took a moment to realize you weren’t really there.

St. Mark’s Place

I roll the glass along my palm. The absinth clouds it’s bottom. It’s 3am now. Her friend wants to leave. She can’t fix her gaze for long but when she does it’s on me. She’s drunk.

She coos into my ear “I’m a sad girl,” and then laughs softly.

"Then be a sad girl. Sad girl, be a sad girl."

Outside the air is stale and the street is empty.

I lean against the side of the building and she rests her head on my shoulder and pretends to cry, dramatically, lacing laughter between the brazen mockery of her own emotion.

Her friend hails a cab.