Time Management
I had been reading
Hemingway, Nabokov, and my Numerical
Analysis text, and
listening to Beethoven and Bruckner
all day and I decided to hit the bar for
a change and some beers.
My old friend Geoffrey stopped me and told me
about the art school he attends now. I didn't know
he was going there and I was happy for him and sorry
he had abandoned art.
The next fellow I encountered walked up to me and
told me I was wearing all black--yes,
he told me this.
If I had been, I might have commended him
for his talents of observation, but since
my sweater was dark blue I slapped him one
in my mind and ended the conversation as courteously
and hastily as possible. I went to the next bar.
There I was happy to find this character who was
one of those who likes you and you don't know why
and he buys you (he bought me) a beer.
I only had to talk to him through half the beer
and then I drank the other half in peace and went to
a party address I had overheard.
At the door five guys greeted me with drunken enthusiasm.
I had known three of them at one time or another.
I pushed my way inside to see if any women
were this happy to see me. They were not
happy nor there.
Some young punk sat next to me and looked at me and
pointed at a girl's ass and for me to look at it and it was
shaking but I was sorry it belonged to my seventeen-
year-old friend, Jay, and it had given birth to
his daughter and was here shaking in front of the punk.
A few weeks ago I met a cute girl and yesterday
I found out she had never touched a drop of alcohol
and she aspires to be a Christian counselor on alcoholism.
Anyway, I left the punk and the ass
and went home to Nabokov, Mahler, Old Style, and then
wrote this.
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