Lunch with Lily at That Sushi Place on Bedford Ave (2009)

This green tea tastes like soap and I want whisky; I'm not listening to our waitress with a Chinese name say something about specials 'cause I'm startled by some students over there sharing sashimi, not yet seeing me, seeming as yet unaffected by... I don't know what to call it. Real life, stupid shit, like, everything? Enjoying instead nothing but exactly this, raw fish and rice, friends, a table, talking, time.

Lily with the the biggest tits who works for Vogue can see my knees gone needy shaking when she asks, "So how was rehab? Are you writing, working, anything?" Silence. Then, as if on cue, I spill the soy sauce, splayed across me like a stab wound. She's embarrassed, taking pity, wondering what happened, could have been, why all our other friends figured shit out, became adults, why I'm such a fuck up. "Hey, I still believe in you," she says so sad and sweet but just before I can believe her back, I hide, squatting in the bathroom stall; I'm stalling so she'll pay the check and checking out my puffy face gone red with faggy tears that streak my cheeks all fleshy while I flush the toilet two more times so no one waiting on the outside hears me choking violent, so hysterical.

After, when I'm stoned alone at home in bed and I remember how I let you down I try to put that hurt in words but when I can't 'cause I'm a pussy, scared, I think just like I always do, Later, do it later, I can always do it later.

Photo by Tim Barber