Ramblings on motorcycles, tattoos, alternative everything, politics, war and life in New York City.

Cost

We were in NJ,                            
“Joisey”
just across the Goethals bridge, in some industrial truck stop of a town
I’d never seen before,
looking for franchised Mexican food and a half-way decent margarita
She pointed out to the neon jumble on the other side of the snow streaked glass.
Ha! I rememeber that motel, she said, chuckling to herself,

 mechanically
in one of her secondhand laughs.
The one your ex-husband took you to?, I asked, recalling an old story.
With the mirrors on the ceiling, and the champagne glass hottub?
No, she said.
A different one. Lots of condoms.
mega-condoms….
Oh, I said. Who was it, anyone I know?
No.
Doesn’t matter, she replied,

her face turned to the window.
pale in the rising light of the motorway

I felt that old familiar pang
that comes from valuing something
more than its owner

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One response

  1. Crafty

    This piece has a very good reality to it. You feel as though you are in that car, the snow streaked windows in a slow drip of the hopelessness of the season. The over-heated air inside the car, dank and sad.
    Nice work, good to see you back writing.

    February 27, 2010 at 12:52 pm

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