The night will never come
My shift ends finally as I drag the enormous trash can outside and attempt to heave its contents, bottles and all, over the side of the dumpster. I smell like beer and whiskey and while in theory that sounds kinda sexy its really not. My current love is at the bar, Chris and he helps me bring up the beer to restock before the night is over. He drinks Greyhounds and thats how we met. He ordered one and I didn’t know what it was and we got into an argument over whether or not he should have just ordered a vodka grapefruit or said Greyhound. He mocked me for not knowing such a simple drink and then asked me out. Well, when you are in your late teens, you don’t really go on dates. You go out. You meet people. You hang out and then have sex later.
Chris has a shaved head and is tall and skinny and funny and sweet. I don’t remember why we broke up but we must have because I can’t even remember his last name. He always called my cat Pancake because he is was long and thin and his belly hung down almost to the floor and when he layed down it looked like, to Chris, that he had some kind of moldy, black furry pancake attached to his undersides. I miss my pancake and he was a good cat. Lonely because I was rarely home. He would cry and cry,, or so my neighbors would tell me. I think maybe he just knew what was best for me and I should have just stayed home more often.
The next day is friday and that is the day I buy a whole new outfit for that night. I have been doing this for about a year and half. I have a lot of clothes. And shoes. I don’t always buy shoes. It started when I had the most brilliant of ideas to amass a collection of underwear so that I would have one pair for everyday of the year. Smart, right? cuts down on laundry and its cheap right? I am soooo smart. But then underpants led to socks which led to bras which led to sweaters which led to shirts, well you know where I eventually end up? Lots of clothes. Really, like a lot.
Shopping I find cute things to wear at my favorite thrift store The Zone. I bought all my homecoming dresses there and talked many of my friends into dresses from there too. I remember a particularly beautiful Tracyann in a deep blue lace number with capped sleeves and sating pumps that matched. She looked so beautiful. I smoke too many cigarettes on an empty stomach and feel a little ill. I eat something meaningless and it goes away. I buy a bottle of water when that was still kind of weird to do. My mom would make fun of me and tell me to give her a dollar and go pour my self some from the tap.
I am going dancing tonight and am not working Friday but am working Saturday night and I have already spent all the money I would be making. I take a disco nap after smoking some pot and wake up feeling even hungrier and less motivated to go out and wear my new outfit. I shower and that brings a whole new perspective on things. I dry my hair, line my eyes in black, apply a generous layer of red to my mouth and head out the door wearing too much jewelery and not enough perfume.
My car is doing this annoying thing because I need a new starter. I live on a hill and in order to start my car I have to POP the clutch, going backwards down Eutaw Place, into traffic and pray that no one hits me. The comfort is that they would hit me from behind and technically that would be their fault. I never actually drift all the way onto North Ave doing this and always have to hope for a spot far up the hill to get me a good start drifting down the hill. Oh, and my float broke on my gas tank and I am always running out of gas. Oh and the brakes start to grind so badly I just use my emergency brake. Spending money on fixing my car seems like a waste of money when I can buy drugs and clothes. I literally drive it until it almost implodes. The clutch goes and then thats it. I leave it where it was towed in my Grammy’s yard until her homehealthcare worker buys it from me for $250. Which I spend on clothes. And maybe some drugs.