A sketch part two…..

I walk back upstairs to my apartment.

I start to think about it and I’m brushing my teeth.

I put on jeans and a newer t-shirt.  Clean socks.  I’m not telling myself what I’m doing yet.  Going through the motions.  Cologne.  Deodorant.  Check my nostril hair.

Sipping at a Bombay martini.  A few hits off a hog leg.

What am I doing?

I sit for a minute.  Check my e-mail.

I’m baked and that always makes me shy.  Socially inept.  Out on my balcony I have a smoke and suck through the ice of the martini.  I check for my keys, wallet and business cards.  The default trifecta.

Before I know it it I’m trotting across the boulevard, with sweat on the back of my neck.  To my right the sushi joint is hopping and in front of me the jukebox swells and recedes with the opening and closing of the door.  The night is humid and the moon is yellow and fat.  She stands outside inhaling her cigarette.  I don’t think she sees me but she darts inside as I walk up.  It’s her skin and I nod to the smokers as I open the door and pass through a cloud of her musky flower and tobacco smoke.

It’s dark and loud.

I’m casual.  I don’t see her and I wonder what I’m doing here as I pretend like I need to use the bathroom.  I stand there pissing nothing with the smell of urinal cakes around my head.  I tell myself this is stupid.  I make up my mind to leave.  Out of the bathroom and into the syrup.  I decide to have a drink and abruptly feel like an idiot waiting for the bartender’s attention.  I don’t wave, that’s not my thing.  Eye contact is my thing.  It’s not happening.

From the corner of my eye, there is a slim hand waving and a finger gesturing.  I look to take it in.  Her lips part and she’s grinning, locking eyes with me.  Without a drink I approach.

“I see you changed out of the office.”, she says.

I tell her I would’ve anyway.

She looks past me behind the bar and here’s the bartender asking me what’s it gonna be.

Drinks for my friends.

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