4. it’s midnight in manhattan, this is no time to get cute.
Okay look, I can’t delete my history even if I want to. I can’t let it be like a computer or a man or the gospel music we loved for one week straight.
Okay baby, I get it, for ten days I got to be your revival meetins and now you say— over e-mail like this could ever be okay (like you’ve never met me in your life) that we should talk face-to-face. It’s exactly what you say and I think, “well, he’s gone mad.” Because how could any man who’d ever watched me masticate his own tongue as if it was a chew toy truly thing that I respond to e-mails that begin with “hello there”?
How can you meet someone face-to-face when they have no mouth, no nose, no heart, no brain? Maybe I’ll play along. Apply lipstick for a rearview mirror that isn’t there and ask hopelessly, helplessly as if I really believed that true love was someone elses gums in my mouth. We’re not talking Trident plus whitening when we refer to the titans and the tyrans. We’re not talking about clean mouthes. Besides, you lie. You say you don’t want television.
I lie too. But I’ll tell you, I watch a lot of TV. Sometimes I can do it for hours. I bet if you add it up, it’s been years, it’s been days.
