Thursday, November 20, 2008


she called me up one night
I knew she was drunk
“what’s up?” I asked.
“nothing,” she said.
“well, where are you?”
she’d been having some trouble
with the asshole that had replaced me
and I hoped it was something good
like he’d stolen her car
or beat up her sister
“I’m over at Winston’s.”
“Winston?!” I shouted.
“who the fuck is Winston?!”
“he’s a dog, Jack. I’m dog sitting.”
“oh, jesus fucking christ! I thought
it might be over
with you and that other guy.
You had me excited for a minute there.”
“hey, stop it.”
“well, what do you want, drunky pants?”
“I’m not drunk.”
“yes you are. I can smell it.”
“you can’t smell it. You’re
thousands of miles away.”
“I’ve told you about my sense of smell.”
“all right, maybe a little.”
“well, good. But what do you want? Hell,
it’s three in the morning there.”
“I just called to tell you,” she sniggered,
“that I don’t drunk dial.”
“what!? What the hell?”
she was trying to hold it in
but I could hear her laughing
she caught her breath and said,
“I don’t call you up when I’m drunk.”
“you’re drunk right now
and you just called me. We’re talking
on the phone, you know.”
“I know,” she said,
beginning to laugh hysterically.
I started laughing too
and had to give it to her,
she was playing a good game.

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