Four drinks hadn’t made him forget about Darfur, nor health care, nor the Venezuelan elections, nor the strikers (wherever they may be). It also couldn’t make him forget the girl that he had loved, had almost got, and then had lost, all before the bar’s happy hour came to a close. She now sat with him, laughing about god-knows-what, though before it had been just the two of them, now the after-work crowd had packed into this dive and he could only see her when certain moved stood at the right angle.
She was interested in ‘equality’. So was he (oh, was he!). And for once his passion on the subject hadn’t scared someone away, perhaps she wasn’t impressed, but she at-least seemed to think it was cute and had nodded dutifully, even smiling once or twice.
But then whoever-he-was came. He ordered a drink at the bar, sticking his head between them (right fucking between them!). Waiting for whatever fruity concoction he had asked for, he turned his head and remarked to her that he “didn’t care what anyone says. ‘Cosmos’ are a man’s drink”. The rest doesn’t need saying, it was a masterful performance, he held her strict attention for five minutes with a monologue on drinks and gender. Our friend watched it helplessly.
But he saw them now, again, as a few people left to smoke. They were still laughing and the man was even standing up occasionally, making wild gestures with his hands.
We’re all so fucking trivial, he thought as he watched them, and every other member of his generation spend so much time talking about nothing,
Still, it was a masterful performance.
Have you considered Subscribing to all of this madness?
And now I read you!