“I don’t want to be a ghost” translates to “I want to rest in peace.” And don’t we all want a good ol’ fashion R.I.P. on the good ol’ fashion grave? I sure do. Sure as hell.
I brought this paper with me so I suppose I might as well use it. I have to piss. I feel like I always have to piss in NYC. Lack of public restrooms is why. Or, maybe my bladder is growing weaker with age. Age, time, piss. It’s all relative.
“I am going to feel joy today,” says a woman as she walks into the bar.
Well, the day is nearly over and she has made it in time to catch the end of happy hour so I’d say her odds are pretty good, if not a bit rushed.
I laugh to myself. I feel joy today. I’m buzzed.
There are mostly women in the bar right now, which is nice. Rare. If only the guys knew. Jokes on them.
The potentially joyful woman laughs out loud and her laugh is really, very loud. More of a cackle. A woman walks over to me and asks for change, which I don’t have – apologetically.
I do have an alcoholic beverage, so thank God for that.
The couple behind me appear to be on their first date and so far, so awkward. He is shorter than her and I wonder about that. They sit far away from each other.
A group of women a few tables away cheers to health and I cheers with them, to myself.
To health!
Words 