Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Maybe I will go tomorrow.

Cat is sitting behind me, on the back of the couch. We're not touching, he purrs in my ear. He never purrs like this, alone, without me. I feel his weight shift, he comes closer to me, hums in my ear, then moves away from me. Still purring. Cat, I cannot understand how your happiness is so independant from mine.

I want to get a drink. I know the dive bar, motorcycles in front, dimly lit, long hilly road, at least a half hour away. Or the one in the downtown boondocks, Christmas lights strung up year-round.

Maybe I'll go to the strip club, where there are rumors of wooden legs. All of these places are far, near naval bases, men my age only knowing a completely different life.

The cat crawls over my arms, ignoring my typing, up my arms, and starts to lick my ears, never silent, resting on my tattoo, claws gently digging into my shoulder.

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