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.

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