Date: 2010-12-14 10:58 am (UTC)
They both drink at mine, and I resist the urge to poke at John about it. “Not going to happen, sweetheart,” I tell Verite when she pokes at me about maybe wearing pink.

And then John works up the guts to say he’s never danced naked, and I’m surprised that I feel like laughing at that. Loosened up is a good way to describe how I’m feeling right now, and it’s easy enough to put people in the past out of my thoughts for the moment. I’m not a maudlin drunk. Verite’s thinking, though, and I’m pretty sure I know what about. Well, if she asks me things I’d rather not talk about, I know how to say no well enough, and I’m not afraid to say it to her.

What she ends up saying, though, is that she’s never been in jail, and John and I both reach for shots. I know mine is another lime and vodka, don’t remember what his was. I clink my glass against his as we take them, thinking at least twice as much of him as I did when I first sat down. Jail tends to teach you a couple things you can’t really learn anywhere else, mostly things about the inside of your own head.

“What was it for, if you don’t mind me asking?” We down our drinks together, and I realize Verite’s offering me a smoke and that it’s my turn as well. I take one and offer her my lighter, then say, “I’ve never been farther south than here.” The best I can map out, I’ve worked my way south and a little west from home, moving east sometimes if that was where the road was going.
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