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LOOKING FOR LOVE OR HOW YOU GOT PISS DRUNK

AND TOLD SOCIETY TO GO TO HELL

BY STEFAN SPECIAN

Lost years manifested in the rhythmic flow of
her hips, the drone of the techno hipster music
exuding from speakers above as you sat
nursing a whiskey with a chip on your shoulder
and a weary heart. It's your fifth and your wallet
is as dry as the Sahara, hair hanging over your
forehead, gleaming with sweat and product.

You'll take her home tonight, two souls desperate
to feel anything and brought together by chance,
fate, predestination perhaps but you're not a
Calvinist and nor am I, so that one's off the table

Shirt half off as you stumble in the door, keys
clattering on the floor as you push her against the
wall. Long kisses reeking of mixed drinks and
spontaneous late night debauchery. She trods
to the bathroom, wiggling her ass invitingly,
redoes her makeup and pisses.

You'll fuck in your bedroom, clumsily, without
grace or beauty except in its rawness. You'll pass
out with her head on your chest and her lipstick on
your abdomen. By nine AM she'll have snuck out.

And you'll awake in a puddle of sweat, reeking of
victory against the forces of cynicism and of fleeting
euphoria. She left her number on the table.

Turn on the shower and puke in the toilet. Smile.