June 15, 2010

somewhere in new york city it's saturday night

"You know, it's funny dealing with all the douche-baggery in the business. You might as well make it big elsewhere in the country and then come back here and be big shit."

"Don't tell me that." P takes a swig from his bottle of IPA. He puts it on the floor. I wish people wouldn't put their drinks on the floor and just put it on a surface where I won't kick it over sometimes. "Please validate my reason for moving to this city."

I shrug in response. I don't want to lie to him, but I don't want to be the bearer of bad news either. That you might as well be a rock star back where you came from. Not where the majority of everyone is unimpressed and just as hungry for success as you. If not moreso. So I give him a cookie instead. He declines.

"You're making it in the most expensive city to live in in the country. Be satisfied with that. The rest is..." I trail off and take a bite of my cookie. I don't know what the rest is and I don't care for filling in the blanks. P doesn't seem to mind.
This isn't what I feel like talking about. It never is. It's not that it depresses me. The truth is that it just plain bores me.

B is restless and I'm restless and she suggests we go to Enid's to meet up with a friend for a drink. So I say okay. And P says yeah okay.
We walk to a bar on a Monday night and it's cool but muggy. I want to ask P about his roommate, but I don't want to nag. It didn't work out with him and now for whatever reason, I'm taking a stroll with the roommate of the last person who made me reconsider the likelihood of dying alone. I mean, if I happen to die an untimely death in the near future, realistically speaking.
I'm feeling a bit at odds. I want him to know and I don't. I want him to give a fuck but he won't. Just an instinct I get. I probably shouldn't give a fuck.
And I guess I don't. Blowing me off must be a lot of fun, because everyone seems to be doing it these days.

When we get there, there's a lot more people at this bar than I'd warrant for a Monday night. There's also louder music than I'd prefer. We all approach the bar and I don't feel like getting anything. I feel a little stupid, going to a bar and not doing anything. I want to leave as soon as I get here. I survey the scene.

Everyone is really drunk. I think this is one of those places where people come to get drunk, rather than just enjoy a drink or two. So then they don't notice the terrible music and tacky decor and sticky floors and that smell that all bars have. Like they mop the floor with beer and ammonia. It all just gels and blurs. My mind feels slow and I don't know if it's this place or I'm just tired.

We part ways after a beer.
"It was nice hanging out. Completely random but a pleasant surprise," B says to P. "I want to see your guys' roof. Billy told me so much about it. It sounds awesome!"

"Yeah, we cook out there a lot. We could have a BBQ," P offers, unexcited.
"We'll bring kebabs!" She deflects anyway.
"Yeah, sounds cool," He says and is off.

B and I wait to cross the street as livery cabs slow down and we wave them off. B lights her cigarette.

"We are never gonna see that roof," I say.
"Nope," B agrees, exhaling. "No fucking way."

1 comment:

DJ Berndt said...

This is wonderful.