And so we’re here. The bitter end. My friend says drunkenly.


I’ve been living here for ages, I say in a sleep haze.


We talk for a few moments. We slur. It doesn’t matter how indecipherable the words are. We understand each other.


I think I drift off to sleep. He’s talking to other people at the bar. He tells me tips on dating that we both forget almost instantly.


Did I tell you about the dream I had the other night? The one about the woman who said my credit card was rejected and judged me harshly when I asked her to run it again, that there must be a mistake? I ask.


Ooooh-we-oooh I look just like Buddy Holly, oh-oh and you’re Mary Tyler Moore, he sings over me.


I think I mean to shrug my shoulders, but instead I fall asleep again.