I’ve got a bad history with women, I told her. This stain on my shirt? A girl threw a bottle of sauce at me. I didn’t even say anything. I was holding a glass of scotch, staring up at the stars. I can see the stars, now that I’m out of the city. They’re fucking boring. They’re depressing. I’d take the dull glow any night. She threw it at me because I wasn’t listening and I wasn’t talking back. Everything happens for a reason. She had a problem, I didn’t. So she threw the sauce. Stained my shirt. Didn’t get any on my jacket. It’ll clean out, I told her. It always does.
There’s a little bruise in the shape of something undefinable on my collar. It doesn’t mean anything.