What America Runs On

I am not sure what turns my night would have taken had I not run into this guy, P, on the street in front of Phoenix, though I am certain my night would have headed off in vastly different directions, probably more fun directions, probably directions that involved getting laid, probably directions that did not end at a Dunkin Donuts out in Bushwick ordering a breakfast sandwich and hash browns at three in the morning, though that last point is pure speculation.

P and his friend were about to head to Eastern Bloc because they didn't want to deal with the line to get into Phoenix. I convinced them they should wait with us and come to Phoenix. Other pursuits, other men, other bars I had planned on maybe going to, all blurred to a white fog. The only clear thing was the thing I was pursuing, P. I talked to P and his friend for a while. I hit on P very blatantly. At some point, I kissed his neck. He is always receptive to these advances, seems almost charmed by them, but always ends up trying to tell me why I don't like him. I keep on telling myself that I just need to push through, keep trying, that I think this guy does actually like me but has some weird block on getting romantic with me that I am determined to clear from the road. Last night, he told me that I only liked him because he looked like my ex, Jacob. I countered with maybe the reason I liked Jacob was because he looked like him, since I had hooked up with P before I even knew Jacob. Neither of which is true, but I was trying to prove his arguments false, trying to get to the point where he would make out with me.

I eventually went with P and his cunty friend, who became cuntier and cuntier toward me as the night went on, to Eastern Bloc. I ditched my friends at Phoenix, never said goodbye. Laser focus in effect. I saw a friend by Tompkins Square Park and stopped to chat to them for a bit and cunty friend led P off to Eastern Bloc. I caught up with them and there was a long line to get into Eastern Bloc, but I dragged them in with me ahead of the line since I was there earlier and the doorman remembered me. It was insanely crowded in there and I pushed my way to the bathroom, having to pee so bad after pounding back drinks for hours. After I left the bathroom, I couldn't find P and his terrible friend anywhere, and figured that they had left. This really bummed me out that he left, but even more so that he left without saying goodbye - and yes, I am aware of the irony here in that I dipped out of Phoenix without saying bye to my friends. But the clear thing in my night was gone. Everything was now just fog. I walked back to Phoenix, didn't see anyone there I knew in the fog of people, also was no longer feeling so buoyant, drunkenness and sadness beginning to collide. I took the L train home and took pictures of the guy's legs I was standing over. They were all tatted up and beautiful. I was in love again. It was short-lived though. He got up soon. I took his seat and took the train to a little place called Dunkin Donuts. I ordered a breakfast sandwich and hash browns. I walked home with this brown bag of sadness, eating from it the hash brown nuggets along the way, not dropping the crumbs, not wanting to create a path back to that place.