She inspires me to live more meaningfully. She inspires me to create.
There are often other rooms, full of voices somehow both strange and familiar. That’s the way of a city like this one. Everyone is jostling with the same energy of familiarity, whether or not they just met. It’s easy to lose yourself, but it’s safer not to. It’s safer to be a spectator. Otherwise you lose the comfortable, ghostly feeling.
Will I only harvest some?
“From now on,” she said, “Don’t talk so much. You’ll only embarrass yourself.”
“That’s fine by me,” I said. “I hardly say anything that I couldn’t improve on paper.”
“You might want to do that, then.”
“Get to it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And you never will, unless you get to it.”
I took another sip of bourbon as she turned in the bed, taking the sheets with her.
We talked about dating as she passed the scissors up and down the back of my neck.
“It’s awful,” she said. “I never feel like I’m getting anywhere. And you meet so many creeps.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, there’s definitely a whole different set of concerns if you’re a woman.”
“I always go out armed.” She wiped some of the clippings from her shears onto her black apron. “I always have my scissors in my bag, or inside my boot.”