am I going to work, McFuckingDonalds?
“You’ve been lucky, but it just feels like a bad idea, you being here all by yourself all night,” he presses on.
“Listen,” I say and rub his leg, “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been doing just fine for three years now. Besides, this isn’t exactly the job I want to retire from.”
He perks up. “Really? What would you like to do?”
I am suddenly gripped with the urge to tell him everything, my hopes and dreams and the fact that I’m super smart and ambitious…and afraid, of what my mom will say, what Eva will say. I’m afraid I’ll fail and I’m afraid he’ll laugh at me so I simply say, “I dunno, do a bookkeeping certificate or something.” In reality I want to go the whole way, BA, Masters, PhD. I want people to call me fucking Doctor. But I don’t tell him this. In short, I am afraid.
“Hey, that’s cool,” he says and I know he’s being mildly condescending. What the fuck does he know though? His big ambition is probably something to do with a hotel room, a bag of coke and a bunch of hookers.
“Yeah, but I don’t know, I think Eva would collapse if I got a real job,” I say and laugh. It’s true though, I don’t know what she’d do without me.
“She’d be fine, you guys have to live your separate lives eventually, right?” he replies.
“I guess, but not for a while. I don’t think either one of us is ready to settle down any time soon. I can’t imagine either one of us in a long term relationship,” I raise my eyebrow and note his slight grimace. I think I might be getting to him as much as he’s getting to me. This mutual attraction is foreign, but is starting to grow on me.
By the time I’m ready to hand the reins to the morning shift, Hush and I have fucked two more times in the bathroom. I am like a bitch in heat around him, and I like it.
We walk out into the morning and the world feels like it’s shifted again. Walking with Hush in the daylight feels like we’re making this legitimate, letting our lust stand the bright light of day. We both look like shit, we’ve obviously been fucking all night, our hair is disastrous and our bodies reek of it. Early morning commuters stare at us as we saunter down Granville, hand in hand and acting like the bold rulers of the new underground.
“You need a lift home?” Hush asks me as we near Robson Street.
“You drive?” I reply, surprised by this revelation. My punk rock-god obsession does something as ordinary as drive?
He reaches into his pocket and digs deep, pulls out a set of keys, dangles them in front of my face and says, “Oh look, apparently I do.”
“Well, heck yes, anything to avoid public transit. It’s pretty bad being the only night owl going home on a Monday morning” I tell him and smile.
He takes a quick right into an underground parking garage, we head down a couple of stories in the elevator, kissing and groping each other the moment we are alone. This is pathetic really, this loss of control. Pathetic; and fucking magnificent.
We walk through the cars and he pauses in front of a new looking Range Rover. I giggle, and assume he’s pulling my leg. “Ok, where’s your real car? What have you got, an old Honda? A broke down Lincoln?” I ask him, and wait for the punch line to this joke.
“No, babe, we’re riding in style,” he says and clicks the key ring. The Rover beeps and opens, he walks to the passenger side door and pulls the door wide with a flourish. “My lady,” he grins, and makes a sweeping bow.
“You have got to be shitting me!” I exclaim. “How much do you guys make with your band?”
He instantly looks embarrassed and mumbles, “It’s family money.” I climb in and he shuts the door. When he gets in I look at him, he does look like he comes from money if you ignore the mohawk, tattoos and faded clothes. He carries himself differently than the trash I grew up with. He doesn’t have that sneaky, conniving look about
“You’ve been lucky, but it just feels like a bad idea, you being here all by yourself all night,” he presses on.
“Listen,” I say and rub his leg, “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been doing just fine for three years now. Besides, this isn’t exactly the job I want to retire from.”
He perks up. “Really? What would you like to do?”
I am suddenly gripped with the urge to tell him everything, my hopes and dreams and the fact that I’m super smart and ambitious…and afraid, of what my mom will say, what Eva will say. I’m afraid I’ll fail and I’m afraid he’ll laugh at me so I simply say, “I dunno, do a bookkeeping certificate or something.” In reality I want to go the whole way, BA, Masters, PhD. I want people to call me fucking Doctor. But I don’t tell him this. In short, I am afraid.
“Hey, that’s cool,” he says and I know he’s being mildly condescending. What the fuck does he know though? His big ambition is probably something to do with a hotel room, a bag of coke and a bunch of hookers.
“Yeah, but I don’t know, I think Eva would collapse if I got a real job,” I say and laugh. It’s true though, I don’t know what she’d do without me.
“She’d be fine, you guys have to live your separate lives eventually, right?” he replies.
“I guess, but not for a while. I don’t think either one of us is ready to settle down any time soon. I can’t imagine either one of us in a long term relationship,” I raise my eyebrow and note his slight grimace. I think I might be getting to him as much as he’s getting to me. This mutual attraction is foreign, but is starting to grow on me.
By the time I’m ready to hand the reins to the morning shift, Hush and I have fucked two more times in the bathroom. I am like a bitch in heat around him, and I like it.
We walk out into the morning and the world feels like it’s shifted again. Walking with Hush in the daylight feels like we’re making this legitimate, letting our lust stand the bright light of day. We both look like shit, we’ve obviously been fucking all night, our hair is disastrous and our bodies reek of it. Early morning commuters stare at us as we saunter down Granville, hand in hand and acting like the bold rulers of the new underground.
“You need a lift home?” Hush asks me as we near Robson Street.
“You drive?” I reply, surprised by this revelation. My punk rock-god obsession does something as ordinary as drive?
He reaches into his pocket and digs deep, pulls out a set of keys, dangles them in front of my face and says, “Oh look, apparently I do.”
“Well, heck yes, anything to avoid public transit. It’s pretty bad being the only night owl going home on a Monday morning” I tell him and smile.
He takes a quick right into an underground parking garage, we head down a couple of stories in the elevator, kissing and groping each other the moment we are alone. This is pathetic really, this loss of control. Pathetic; and fucking magnificent.
We walk through the cars and he pauses in front of a new looking Range Rover. I giggle, and assume he’s pulling my leg. “Ok, where’s your real car? What have you got, an old Honda? A broke down Lincoln?” I ask him, and wait for the punch line to this joke.
“No, babe, we’re riding in style,” he says and clicks the key ring. The Rover beeps and opens, he walks to the passenger side door and pulls the door wide with a flourish. “My lady,” he grins, and makes a sweeping bow.
“You have got to be shitting me!” I exclaim. “How much do you guys make with your band?”
He instantly looks embarrassed and mumbles, “It’s family money.” I climb in and he shuts the door. When he gets in I look at him, he does look like he comes from money if you ignore the mohawk, tattoos and faded clothes. He carries himself differently than the trash I grew up with. He doesn’t have that sneaky, conniving look about
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