Diner redux
WAGH. The past couple of days hasve sucked hardcore.
She's not coming.
Maybe...maybe she didn't want to come. I mean, I just disappeared without saying anything for a month. The last time we saw each other, I...
I yelled at her, i think. I was mad about something. I can't really remember. She didn't deserve that. She probably never wants to see me again.
I drop a twenty on the table and leave without seeing the bill. It starts to mist as I climb the stiar to my apartment.
It's dark and stuffy inside. The clock blares 3:17 in insomnia red. I need to leave for the airport in two hours. I'm not going to bother to sleep.
I pack up some things. It's a long trip; I need something to do. For a while, I just sit next to the sliding glass doors and watch the city dreaming. How does time work, I wonder. I was young once and wanted justice and now I'm bitter and anxious. How did I get from there to here?
I wish I wazs drunk so there was at least a reason to wax philosophical. I distract myself with mundane thought. I keep forgetting to buy a toothbrush. I really want a glass of milk. I wonder if I should give away my stuff to my neighbors or something. None of them even noticed when I died for four weeks. I guess it's lucky I pay my bills a month ahead.
Ms. Park is the only one who ever really saw me.
Idiot. Stop thinking about her. You're just going to break your heart.
I hesitate, then sit down and write a note. I draft it at least five times, starting and stopping sentences, crossing out things, writing next to nothing useful. Eventually I tear the note to ribbons and leave it piled on the table. I am frustrated with myself.
It seems like I should be satisfied, but I'm not. Why was I doing this? It wasn't revenge or I'd be done by now.
It's time to go. I lock the door and contemplate the future. In some ways, I'm going to miss this place. in others, I consider never coming back.
I take the subway because it's cheaper than a cab, and no one looks you in the eye on the subway at five in the morning or asks you what you're doing up so early. On the subway, there are drug addicts and sexual deviatns and bleary-eyed construction workers. they don't want anything to do with you.
I get my boarding pass from a tired young woman. "Purpose of visit?" she asks trying not to yawn too much. It's either the beginning or the end of her shift. Judging b y the wrinkles on her uniform, I'm guessing the end.
"Business," I say, though I'm not sure if it is.
She checks my passport and I try not to look nervous or guilty. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm just going to Europe. Nothing sinister about that.
Security is dead. Ther are more officers than passengers by a significant margin.
They don't give me a hard time. They're right near the end; they just want to sleep.
After the plane takes off, I remember that I was supposed to buy a toothbrush.
She's not coming.
Maybe...maybe she didn't want to come. I mean, I just disappeared without saying anything for a month. The last time we saw each other, I...
I yelled at her, i think. I was mad about something. I can't really remember. She didn't deserve that. She probably never wants to see me again.
I drop a twenty on the table and leave without seeing the bill. It starts to mist as I climb the stiar to my apartment.
It's dark and stuffy inside. The clock blares 3:17 in insomnia red. I need to leave for the airport in two hours. I'm not going to bother to sleep.
I pack up some things. It's a long trip; I need something to do. For a while, I just sit next to the sliding glass doors and watch the city dreaming. How does time work, I wonder. I was young once and wanted justice and now I'm bitter and anxious. How did I get from there to here?
I wish I wazs drunk so there was at least a reason to wax philosophical. I distract myself with mundane thought. I keep forgetting to buy a toothbrush. I really want a glass of milk. I wonder if I should give away my stuff to my neighbors or something. None of them even noticed when I died for four weeks. I guess it's lucky I pay my bills a month ahead.
Ms. Park is the only one who ever really saw me.
Idiot. Stop thinking about her. You're just going to break your heart.
I hesitate, then sit down and write a note. I draft it at least five times, starting and stopping sentences, crossing out things, writing next to nothing useful. Eventually I tear the note to ribbons and leave it piled on the table. I am frustrated with myself.
It seems like I should be satisfied, but I'm not. Why was I doing this? It wasn't revenge or I'd be done by now.
It's time to go. I lock the door and contemplate the future. In some ways, I'm going to miss this place. in others, I consider never coming back.
I take the subway because it's cheaper than a cab, and no one looks you in the eye on the subway at five in the morning or asks you what you're doing up so early. On the subway, there are drug addicts and sexual deviatns and bleary-eyed construction workers. they don't want anything to do with you.
I get my boarding pass from a tired young woman. "Purpose of visit?" she asks trying not to yawn too much. It's either the beginning or the end of her shift. Judging b y the wrinkles on her uniform, I'm guessing the end.
"Business," I say, though I'm not sure if it is.
She checks my passport and I try not to look nervous or guilty. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm just going to Europe. Nothing sinister about that.
Security is dead. Ther are more officers than passengers by a significant margin.
They don't give me a hard time. They're right near the end; they just want to sleep.
After the plane takes off, I remember that I was supposed to buy a toothbrush.