One night a co-worker says that I have the worst luck of anyone she's ever met (We arouse pity by cultivating the most repulsive wounds). A version of empathy, I suppose, but I don't really want to talk about it. If we got out drinking after work, if I end up spending the night with her, maybe I'll say more, as we talk afterward, as a way to explain something about myself, why I'm the way I am, why I'm in her bed and not Emily's. An affair is a room to disappear into for a few hours, another place to hide. But if asked directly I'll say he's just another drunk, that's what I've always heard, a drunk and a con man, he has nothing to do with me. I don't know you at all, she will say, a few months into our affair, but if you ever want to talk. . . and I'll smile a skull's smile and one by one the lights will go off inside me.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2012-04-14 04:11 am (UTC)Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, Nick Flynn.