The first date: the last date

You will find yourself sitting across from her at a trendy luncheon bistro with gay waiters and alcoholic waitresses flitting madly about you; the lines on their faces speak for themselves. You will say something that you think is witty like life is better taken in small doses and she will burp and say, “excuse me Caesar salad always does that to me,” and you will then wonder why in the Hell she ordered the Caesar salad but you won’t say anything. She will take out a photo of her daughter and you will nod politely and say, “she’s a beauty,” when deep inside you’re wondering if it would be rude to say you are going to the restroom and sneak out the back exit. But you don’t because they have branded you a nice guy. You will instead order your third beer underneath her disconcerting gaze, her thinking--oh great another alcoholic. Exactly, you think back and hope she is into ESP but of course she isn’t and orders another raspberry iced-tea. And you know you can never love a woman that orders raspberry iced-tea because it lacks anything intoxicating and displays a lack of vices which of course ads depth, of which your beginning to suspect she has none. You won’t want to be too hard on her because she is trying but your eyes keep drifting to the waitress with the hard fuck me face and the dandelion tattoo on her shapely thigh.

There will be a lull in the conversation largely because you aren’t paying attention and you nod and gaze deeply into her teeth because her eyes are crooked. “Hros,” you say which is Old High German for horse because her teeth are like the mighty yellow choppers of some deranged circus animal. She will stare at you sideways and then drop her hand on yours. “Uh, excuse me,” you will say and bolt for the restroom.

Locked inside you take out a cigarette and put a good sized gob of hash on it and smoke it down, waiting a few minutes for the buzz to come on. When you exit the bathroom a gay waiter will be standing outside with a hand on his hip, the smoke from the bathroom engulfing him. “You can’t smoke in there,” he’ll say. “I didn’t know,” you’ll say under the blinking red glare of the DO NOT SMOKE sign. You shrug and start back to your table hoping the waiter will tell his manager what you've done and kick you the fuck out but he won’t, your destiny has been sealed in a sandwich bag and wedged between the thighs of lady luck who is now out back in the alley blowing a busboy.

Back at the table small talk will devolve into smaller talk until the only voice is the one deep inside your head echoing off the loneliness you are feeling in the middle of a room full of people. You order your fourth beer. “You drink a lot,” she will say and you will nod. The waitress with the dandelion tattoo on thigh will bend over to pick up a napkin and sex will be the next best thing on your mind. You will take a long drowning pull from your beer and turn back to her. The beer will talk to you and say, “she ain’t that bad.” You’ll agree and adjust your goggles. “Bone machines, we are all bone machines according to Tom Waits,” you’ll say because now the drugs and the booze are kicking in and you think if you two were really meant to be that she will get your esoteric jabber. “What?” she will say and you will say, “Nothing, it was nothing. You aren’t getting me.” “That’s because you’re not making sense,” she will say and you will agree on the outside but on the inside the only thing you're thinking about is how to get that waitress’s phone number. “Do me a favor,” you’ll say to her, “ask the waitress over there for her phone number.” “What?” she will say and you realize that you’ve just made a horrible mistake, that you only meant to think what you just said. She will angrily gather the pictures of her daughter and stuff them in her giant handbag and jump up from the table. “Good-bye,” she will say and her and her crooked eyes will go out the door. Memories will be hazy now as you are drunk and high but you’ll think that you offer to buy the waitress a drink after work and the next thing you will know you will be in her loft with her nylons between your teeth. The next morning you will wonder why you do the things you do as the sun rips through the blinds and pierces your corneas. You will challenge the sun and its light with your eyes, staring it down and it will be a war of attrition. She will stir next to you and put you in her mouth and you will continue to stare into the sunlight but more and more you will be drawn to her working mouth. You will blink and the battle with the sun will be over as you cum in her hair…