It’s nothing scandalous. We consummated, and she liked it way more than I expected given her world-weary experience in getting boned by every dude under our sun.
But she turned out to be a very bad presence in my life. I should not care, and maybe I do not.
The chances that any human on this pinpoint location in this galaxy’s trillions of souls would ignite a particle of recognition is virtually non-existant.
But I don’t care. FB has become a sewer anyway and I don’t have time for it. A problem with quitting out is that some people I know use no other means to communicate with others. I’ll take the chance of missing a contact.
She was not the first in this realm but she would certainly not be the last of my dalliances that I vow not to advertise or identify in any way. I was in a years-long thing where I felt we overadvertised our time together. I never liked that but felt trapped and unable to say anything for fear of repercussions and anger.
A problem with this lack of documentation, this lack of evidence is that i lose track of things. It’s amazing how much I forget. Without forcing myself to go back in time I find I forget entire people, and complete encounters. It’s not just the appearance that they were never there. It’s almost as if I was never there, either.
I was reminded of the doctor, the woman half my age who chased after me like she’d die without it. She was such trouble and I knew i. I’m not lacking in troubles myself but I think we both got out unscathed.
I was reminded of her when a middle-of-the-night text message from her practice arrived. It was obviously a glitch, the message informing me that I had consented to receive text messages from this doctor’s office even though I had not visited there in probably two years.
She would have had nothing to do with that text but how could it not remind me of her, however much I tried to forget.
I’ll let it go.
…At work early, thinking the A/C might even be a little overkill on what will be a 100+°F day. It’s freezing in here. Boo-hoo.
I’m sitting at one of the Platt Street seats today. Through one of the windows in a building across William Street I regularly see a little kid twirling in place, jumping up and down and just playing in what appears to be an office. I never see an adult in this room but I have to assume they are present.
I love this part of town. The belly of the beast, as I call it. It’s very concentrated, with ultrawealthy rubbing elbows and stepping into the vmoit of the ultrapoor. You could say as much about many parts of New York.
So many lives. Every single one a fascination, with itself or to someone else. A communication network silently connects us, like tree roots talking below the ground.
