Been living here two years. Put a cigarette in a whiskey bottle near my bed for every time I brought somebody home. I’m on about two a weekend. I’m at the bar, he’s ordering me drinks, we get home, and I drop a butt into the bottle. It’s a tally mark. It’s a notch in my belt. It’s a cigarette in an empty whiskey bottle. It tells me how far off I am off the mark. Because here’s the thing. You might not be doing anything, but at least you know it. At least you’ve got the scars to prove it. That whiskey bottle’s about filled. Funny thing is, not a single person has ever said anything about it to me. Nobody complains about how it looks or how it smells. And with so much time past, I kinda think of it as me. Ain’t no one complaining. But also? No one’s taken the damn thing home for themselves. It’s that easy, that simple to understand. Guy wants a girl that will mess them up. One that’ll make them confused and make them wonder about what’s really going on. But it ain’t that hard with me. See this cigarette? Into the bottle it goes. There you go.
You sure you want to do this? I mean, you don’t seem like that kind of guy. No, you’re good and all that. But I don’t see this in you. Don’t look at you and think, “there’s the fire, there’s the smoke,” and wanna toss this cigarette in. But I will, if you want. You sure you’re ready for that? You sure, baby? You sure you want all that?
5 months ago