no matter what you’re holding, there’s no way to tell until the bidding’s done.
Here I am, only seven more floors until I walk into satan’s lair to sell my soul.
This I’m supposed to believe while mulling over an act latent with meaning. But they loved me at Joint. I know they did. I haven’t heard back, but I know they did. I at least gave them reason for pause. So I can walk away confident that I did my best. (I say that now…) I spent the rest of the five days with S—-. Buying a car, playing pool, going for beer, talking about us, and Lindsay and his drinking. Yes, his drinking. He mentioned it as a point of concern several times… So I followed up. Fairly unkindly actually.
The black tape the black on the floor.. I picked it up and through it away. and I threw away the thoughts of defeat. I threw away the thoughts of disrespect of myself…. as the music played. Chick-music in the dark in tears (don’t talk in the elevator. There seems to be some kind of code of silence here too… limbs against the flannel, screening his own private mission impossible. a woman so close in front of me I could bite her ear.)