talk to strangers

monologue02

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She only ever felt urgency after four p.m. Anything before that didn’t seem to count for much. She’d often skip breakfast, substituting it with a cigarette (non-performative) and a cup of coffee full of cream and sugar. Both would suffice until she became ravenous around two or three in the afternoon, when she’d consume whatever was in sight. A bag of popcorn, sour straws, grapes by the handful, buttered toast.

She went out most nights, and when she did she’d take her drink outside, lean against the brick wall, smoke another cigarette (performative), and try to catch the eye of a stranger. But she found men would only approach her if she’d already done the work for them.

She had it down to a system: eye contact, look away, smile for no reason. The second time, eye contact again and brush her hair over her shoulder, because when she was tipsy she tended to believe her collarbones were attractive. The third time, eye contact, glance at his lips, look away just as he noticed. By the fourth, he was usually already walking over.

She never went home with these men or invited them back to her place. Sure, she’d make out with them until her lips were bruised, but sleeping with them was a line she wouldn’t cross.

Not because she was waiting for someone or because she believed in saving herself for anything. She simply liked the part before and the possibility of it all. The exchange of names she’d forget by morning. The feeling of being wanted without the burden of being known.

And around two in the morning, after enough cigarettes and enough conversations that meant nothing, she’d call an Uber home alone. Wash the smell of smoke from her hair, crawl into bed and wake up the next afternoon hungry again.