I like when a compliment lands and the one I'm praising can't make it
fit. Charlie blushed, squirmed and fanned her neck with her right
hand, "channeling Janis and Aretha, oh, that's too much!" She had
graciously accepted the compliments of dozens of men and women, moving
toward the bar, and one man was trying to lock her in conversation. I
had delivered my compliments, waved and left with a parting shot,
"yes, it's tooo much, but it's true". I am not one to cloy. I made my
way to the door. I am reminded of a couple in that huddle and cling embrace just before
I entered the Union Street Station. It is that embrace that says,
"this is going no farther, my friend, than the sidewalk". What the
slick looking man who is trying to lock "Charlie" in conversation
cannot bring himself to understand is she's trying to get a final beer
after singing an encore that took her past last call. And that should
be his first thought because her throat must be dry. As for the mook
getting the let's be friends hug thirty minutes prior, he could have
played with her hair or rubbed her back or messaged her neck Squeezed
her hand Everything good you know about life, you cannot tell to boys.
Sigmund Freud said that, and I like it, and often I feel I have
learned these secrets. I wonder as a 47 year old man, what I haven't
been told. A woman with blond hair, wearing an extra large Union Street Hoodie,
was smoking with a friend outside on the sidewalk. Ned the bouncer who
had remembered my name from Monday night, had just locked the door
behind me, as he would do for all leaving. I begged a cigarette from
her and she granted me the one from her lips, freshly lit. She was a
robust woman; she didn't need the extra large hoodie to cover a
multitude of sins but to cover an abundance. I lit her next cig off
the one she gave me. A group of men talking, and one announced, "Yeah,
I got some crack." "Cool", a friend replied. My smoking companion bent
over, "I've got crack, too!", mooning the men. I stubbed out that cig
cold out, tossed it in the trash. I thought of gargling with bottled
water when I sat down in my driver seat.
fit. Charlie blushed, squirmed and fanned her neck with her right
hand, "channeling Janis and Aretha, oh, that's too much!" She had
graciously accepted the compliments of dozens of men and women, moving
toward the bar, and one man was trying to lock her in conversation. I
had delivered my compliments, waved and left with a parting shot,
"yes, it's tooo much, but it's true". I am not one to cloy. I made my
way to the door. I am reminded of a couple in that huddle and cling embrace just before
I entered the Union Street Station. It is that embrace that says,
"this is going no farther, my friend, than the sidewalk". What the
slick looking man who is trying to lock "Charlie" in conversation
cannot bring himself to understand is she's trying to get a final beer
after singing an encore that took her past last call. And that should
be his first thought because her throat must be dry. As for the mook
getting the let's be friends hug thirty minutes prior, he could have
played with her hair or rubbed her back or messaged her neck Squeezed
her hand Everything good you know about life, you cannot tell to boys.
Sigmund Freud said that, and I like it, and often I feel I have
learned these secrets. I wonder as a 47 year old man, what I haven't
been told. A woman with blond hair, wearing an extra large Union Street Hoodie,
was smoking with a friend outside on the sidewalk. Ned the bouncer who
had remembered my name from Monday night, had just locked the door
behind me, as he would do for all leaving. I begged a cigarette from
her and she granted me the one from her lips, freshly lit. She was a
robust woman; she didn't need the extra large hoodie to cover a
multitude of sins but to cover an abundance. I lit her next cig off
the one she gave me. A group of men talking, and one announced, "Yeah,
I got some crack." "Cool", a friend replied. My smoking companion bent
over, "I've got crack, too!", mooning the men. I stubbed out that cig
cold out, tossed it in the trash. I thought of gargling with bottled
water when I sat down in my driver seat.
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