Man, I’m getting kind of pissy here. My waitress has forgotten me; granted, I’m sitting in the back all by myself. But she knows I’m here. Hell, she even smiled at me earlier. It wasn’t the ol’ “One beer, then get the FUCK OUT OF HERE” look that I’ve gotten used to interpreting, either. It was a look that said, “Wow, you’re cute, whut say I bring you a beer, Sailor?”

Maybe she poisoned my beer with some sort of invisibility drug that’s just come out on the market. I’m sure I’m just overreacting; I’m sure she’s just got a lot going on. As if I give a flying fuck. In our relationship, at least, she doesn’t have fuck-all to do outside of bringing me a goddamn beer at least once a motherfucking hour. How would that be, eh honey? That would be fucking spiffy, eh?

Goddamn, I wish I had a fucking watch sometimes. She finally showed up, then asked if I wanted a beer. Then acted fucking irritated when I said yes. What a fucking cunt. She has earned no tip. But, in order to break the cycle of Bad Tip/Bad Service madness, I’ll give her a tip. Throwing her an undeserved bone, as it were. Hopefully, she won’t misinterpret it as joy of being ignored on my part. I don’t really see how she could. But, sometimes, people’s capacity for self-delusion is nothing short of stunning.

Lordy, my anger’s gone. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Usually, I would say. Probably depends on the cause. Well, tonight, there’s no more worrying about right or wrong, good or evil. I’m going to finish my beer, go home, and watch a movie. Enjoying the heat, I’ll drink beer, thrill to explosions, watch the cars go by, smoke cigarettes, and ocasionally enjoy the electric sensation of too-vivid memories that spring at me from behind the sofa.

Good night.