Three gins inThree gins in and I'm thinking about honey legs, a summer long gone, and how come you only told me you wanted to fuck me years after I got back with my wife and it was impossible to even think about?
Three gins in and I'm remembering a warm night, she is walking through the door, flushed and tired, and I say, how was your hot date? because her buddies told me that was where she was. And she is like, what the fuck do you mean, it's nothing to do with you? And I'm like, woah, I never realised she didn't like me, because I can't see that she's just embarrassed, it didn't go well, wasn't all that hot, and of course it's all about me.
Three gins in and I look at the books in the crates waiting for me to move them downstairs, and I'm thinking, I'll never read all those, and suddenly I realise yes, I am older, and I don't want to say old, but a woman once asked me if I was the twins' granddad and I should have been mortified, but instead I thought it was just what I deserved, because I did get old and now I cannot ever be young again.
Three gins in and I think, I'll never see Stockholm. And it's not that I particularly want to see Stockholm, it's just that I'd like the option.
And I didn't dance when I was in Barcelona, because I choose women who choose me and I was chosen by a woman like a sheet anchor, who had no way to have fun unless you made fun for her, a woman who had no idea how her heart could sing, who focused only on how I should play the tune.
Three gins in and I remember a gentle squeeze on my fingers, I will never see you again, and I don't understand why everyone thinks it's kindness simply to love me. I have needs too.
You'd think they'd realise.
Three gins in and I remember you, my clearest memory I think, in a pressed white blouse, in a rush, no more than a minute or two to give me.
And I think, I love her, I'm sure I love her, but you, you had better things to do, better or more pressing, but anyway, you left without even kissing me goodbye, and I loved you all the more, but