Luxurious Misery

It is dark and quiet. I like it dark and quiet, don’t you? There are only two other customers, a couple. They seem happy. At times the happiness of others can be opressive. I choose to sit at the bar's other end. The bartender nods and begins mixing my usual. I like the sound that ice makes as it is dropped into a glass, don’t you? When I finish one drink he will make me another without my asking. I check the time : two hours until I have to meet her, and tell her why. Not here, though. I have brought her to many bars, but never to this bar. I’ve never even told her of this bar. As far as she knows this bar doesn’t exist. To the bartender here I don’t exist outside this bar: he knows my drink, but I have not ceded enough information of my real (or should I should say ‘other’?) life for him to form even a partial image of my actual existence. To him I materialize, consume, and dematerialize. He puts the drink down in front of me and moves off. I wonder what he would say to

The time with her at Leblon beach , that's what the songs remind me of. All my memories of then have a glossy sheen - south of the equator sun reflecting off sand and tan skin, the scenes filtered through polarized lenses . I turn the CD off, finish rolling and light a cigarette. I smoke it while looking out the window of my apartment at a view of a Circle K.

"You loved that watch," she said. "I liked it, " I said, "It's just a watch ." We both knew I was lying. "Why don't you have another drink?" I said, and I ordered one for her and one for me. She looked hurt. She had never seen me losing like this. I had never seen me losing like this. "I'll win it back tomorrow, plus some more. " We both knew I wouldn't.

"The Roman Empire is luxurious, but it is filled with misery. It is dying but it laughs." - Salvianus