Texas City Woman

We sat around the bar, old and tired. From their faces you could tell exactly who lived in New York City for way too long and who has just come in. The smell of the cigarette smoke that lingered on their jackets, the wrinkles of men who looked beyond their own age, those women beaten down by life, they seemed so bitter, so cynical so tired of the game.

Then I pulled out the bottle of old rum from Venezuela. I bought the bottle for $9.99 but they did not know any better. The rum made a killing. It was way too strong but we all needed to forget about our own ways.

Around ten they walked out of the bar. They had nowhere to go but it was time for all to leave.

Are you walking home or taking the train? She asked.

I planned on walking but recognized the opportunity.

There was nothing special about Stephanie. She was a blond. She was from Texas. Her ass was saggy and her face beyond its years.

She did not seem to mind that I mistakenly referred to her as Stacy more than twice during the conversation. With every correction, I appeared to be more of a bastard and that was exactly why we were on our way to her apartment down on Rivington Street.

The place was small and messy. It smelled like cats despite the ample Indian incense smoke. She offered me a drink and then it was on to small talk. I sat on the side and drank a beer while she thoroughly massaged my feet with her broad fingers. She spoke about those things that women spoke about and I pretended to give a damn.

I asked her if she had a cigarette but she had none. She offered me a joint instead.
As she rolled a professionally looking one, I thought about my life and about my strategy with women. Here was another example of a woman that I would lay only to later regret it in the morning. By now I lost count of how many came and went. That was the case for most of us who waited too long around the city.

I could only imagine that Stacey lost count as well.

After sex she took a shower and I fell fast asleep.

Her fingers across my shoulder, I pretended not to feel her touch.

In the morning I was gone without expectation or too many words.

It was night again and then came another woman. Her name was fast fading, as was the memory of the conversation.

It was time to look for something more meaningful in my life.

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