i'm a singer, not a swinger

neither really. just a guy who got more than he bargained for going out on a thursday night. it all starts with the simple act of finding a watering hole in which to begin the slow, torturous death of my sorrows. for that night at least. still haven't quite figured out how to deal with her death. not seeing her every day, hearing her voice, or holding her while we sleep probably won't ever feel ok to me. but i've got no choice right? soldier on, stiff upper lip now. cheerio.

anyway, i chose someplace around the corner because it meant i could get really toxic and still get home easily. planning is everything. i knew it was going to take a serious binge to blind myself to the pain in my core. so i walk in, belly up, and kick it off with the usual. a little tequila. it's hard to explain why i sip tequila. no one ever introduced the idea to me. i just started doing it one day. i don't have any idea why. but when i do, i feel like i'm transported to another time and place. mexico, or maybe what we now call texas, in the early 19th century. i'm a plantation owner. yeah, mustache, linen suit, straw hat; the whole sterotype. but i look good, natural. not forced or put on. and it's hot, but not stifling. i can sip my tequila and watch the sun set while my workers finsh the chores for the day. the sun's roses and oranges ring the valley in front of me and wish me good night the way a lover waves goodbye. i know i will sleep and she will return for me in the morning. but i'll still sleep alone.

see it all comes back to being alone. missing her. the only way i can even sleep is by flattening myself with booze. otherwise i just lay there, trying to still capture a whiff of her from the sheets and pillows. wanting to close my eyes and reach out and have my hands discover her there. but yeah...not gonna happen. not gonna happen.

so, i'm sipping my tequila, aggresively insiuating myself into a crossowrd puzzle, when this woman sits down next to me. medium height, slender, brunette, purposeful. sat down like she'd just gotten done running over someone over who'd been asking for it for months. i made a casual notice of her, but didn't really disassociate myself from my puzzle. but then id' get stuck on a clue, wrestle with it, lose, and my eyes would land on her. it wasn't that she was pretty, which she was, and wasn't that she was looking at me, she wasn't. no, there was something burning off her. she smoldered the way someone whose just been separated from a fight fumes away because the fight isn't over. like she was working out in her mind how to finish the job later. i wasn't persuaded she was muderous just yet, but in retrospect, it wouldn't have suprised me.