The Patch Up
[the24project | 15 April 2012]
i. “We need to talk.” He faintly slid a foamy pint of Goose Island across the coarse pub-booth tabletop and looked at me with eyes that transposed his “we” for my “I.” I said “okay” into my glass and finished it in three or four sustained gulps. Then I told his headrest that I couldn’t think in a bar, so he shot his whisky neat and sipped the water on the side and dropped a twenty and stood. He answered for the headrest and asked me where could I think, and I said I needed to walk off the haze in my head and grabbed my jacket and he followed me outside. The cement was wet and the air smelled like ozone. We turned right on Damen and walked toward Augusta and as I talked the mental clouds burst. I remember even the leaves were grey, even though they weren’t.
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