drunken dreams

“I’ve got a head of indecision.”

“Well, give it a coin and make one.”

She waits two measures. “Still nothing.”

“We’re in for a long night.”

“It looks like we are.” She bites her lips in a way that tells me she’s telling the truth. Her bottom lip is kicking out from over her lower teeth. In all other ways she’s perfect.

She leaves that afternoon. She says she’s tired of waiting for the moon to come. I agree. The moon takes too long on most nights.

On any other night, we would have greeted the descent of the sun with drinks. This night, I take my drink and look out at that moon and curse her.

She knocks on the door near 2 am. I don’t hear it at first. Once I do, I make my way to the door and answer in delirium.

“I hear whiskey tastes better after heartbreak,” she says and she says it so sure of herself that it makes me feel disgusted.

But I invite her in.

“Do you want a horrible tasting drink?”

“I’ll take it.”

I set two rocks glasses up with no rocks. We clink.

“Say there’s no moon some night,” I say. “Say you don’t see it the other night. Would you think you’re in for a streak?”

“I’d think I was blind,” she says.

“That’s the most rational thing I’ve heard in a while.” I say.

“You must be crazy.” She says, but I think she’s full of it.