An old lover surfaced…
someone I was really nuts for, light years ago.
He said he was worried when he was told at my old place, I didn’t live there anymore. Then when my landline was disconnected, he really panicked.
Awe, the little monkey, who jilted me, way back when, for an Asian model named Fawn, or was it Tiger Lily?
Yes, it was the year David Bowie’s song, China Girl, came out. Every guy seemed to want one along with a Porsche, vasectomy and an electric guitar.
His text popped a file like a boil that needed longtime lancing. When he asked me out for a drink I thought about it, remembering how blue his eyes were and how he loved to spoon squeezing you all night like a big, stuffed toy.
And sex was a religious experience, as blasphemous as that may sound.
But then thought about how hurt I was being pushed aside for a girl with no charm, no brain, not even able to conjugate a verb, because she was in and I was out, at the time, like flats, that let’s face it, never go out of style, for chopsticks, with a heel.
Sorry baby, I’m pretty busy, but thanks for calling, you poor excuse for a memory.
You think I sound angry?
Nah! Remember, the truth sets you free, but first it kicks your ass.