Routine Christmas
She had stopped picking up my calls. Or returning them. But I knew better. I guess I must have done something bad, which I probably didn’t remember. The hell with it. I was expecting someone anyhow. I had over 20 hangovers the past 20 days or so. And today was no different. I sure wasn’t going to stop now, just as I began to hit stride. ”Oh sweet Angelina,” I thought to myself,”it’s over alright”. I sat on my balcony and poured myself a drink. I felt like wine that morning, not because I had good taste of some kind. But that morning itself felt like a wine-kind one, I could tell. Girls passed by, and women, and then girls again. Couples. Grannies. Hot ones. And some weird guy int between. I was picturing myself sleeping with any of them. The weird guy included. They were all beautiful, very. Each had a curve, a smile, a something. I got a half hard-on. But I kept it mostly to cigarettes and wine. Inhaling whatever life had given me and exhaling what’s left of it. And people would look at me, likewise. But I was sure that they weren’t thinking about sleeping with me, at least most of them. People were going up and down that street, with their groceries bags, their lights, their decorations, their wines, their smiles. And I just sat there, watching them all excited and shit. I was drinking at a time when they wouldn’t. At a time when the stars were solely aligned in my favor. I hated drinking at times when everyone else would, it would suck all the joy out of it. It was my time. My stars.
Merry Christmas.
