DESPERATELY SEEKING SOMETHING LIKE ARIZONA, LOS ANGELES or MISSOURI / w4w / Chicago (Wicker Park)
You: Elegant but messy, like a mix of Princess Grace and Kesha. Odd combo, but it works. Blue line Damen stop. After, Violet Hour. You had a city or state name. I know because the bartender (tight shirt, faux “tail”) said it. It was not California or Atlanta although those are fine names, nothing against them. You were reading something. Maybe Richard Rorty, the one where he’s in that white suit with all those weird flowers behind him that make him look like a child molester? I heard you say it, Pimm’s Cup, so I ordered the same. Delicious, by the way. Missing cucumber though. Or was there a cucumber floating in yours and I didn’t get one? I had a friend with me, a gorgeous writer with a bunch of books. Which she was holding. Not all. Just one. She couldn’t fit them all in her hands or if she could, she’s not that person. Her picture is on the front cover and her hair is so glossy if I heard people taking bets about whether it’s digitized, it wouldn’t surprise me. My friend is very outgoing and friendly, even though people think she’s a stuck up bitch who thinks she’s hot shit because she is hot shit, what the hell? Maybe you’ve even done nude modeling like her? Not to be weird. I just mean you both have the bodies for it. Not that similar. Except both looking ready for it—“it” being “representation” not “something super sexual.” As for me, I was holding a recorder the color of my shirt and the room: black. Which is why I have to write in the first place. I lost you in there. Maybe it’s fate. Write me back?
via Elizabeth Hildreth
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