“You’re a narcissist. All you write about is yourself.” We argued about this for about an hour before we saw Mad Max. I don’t know how Mad Max is because I fell asleep. Apparently I tried to rest my feet on the gentleman in front of me.
Like any good narcissist worth his salt.
Last night, in the college dorm that is my apartment building, I slept with one of my neighbors. I don’t even know how it happened. All I know is that I landed at JFK, got a bunch of text messages, went to the bar, and ended up with someone in my bed. Shit happens.
This morning she was crying. She and her boyfriend just broke up. Like, right before she got to the bar. I don’t frankly feel bad about it, even though maybe I should. He sounds like kind of an asshole, if her story is true. So, whatever.
“There’s one direction in life, and it’s forward.” I don’t know if I was talking to her or myself. But what else do you say to a person who’s crying in your bed and covering her head with a pillow? “Happy birthday”?
When I convinced her to stand up we went to get breakfast. A lot of people would call it brunch. In fact, it was much more like lunch, considering I ate a chicken schwarma. But since it was my first meal of the day, it’s kinda breakfast, y’all.
She changed clothes in her apartment downstairs, and I hung out with her cat and admired her tits. We drank coffee and she asked me to marry her over and over again, and I felt bad because of course we all deserve that, or something, but I still told her no, that she was mourning, that a fling with me might be a part of that process, that that was okay, but that she should probably think things through a bit.
I left her at a table at a bar after brunch. We were outside and she had decided to ask someone else there to marry her. I couldn’t blame her, except that she picked a shitty bar to find a husband.