black eye

I took a walk. Living on a hill usually means it’s a hike so walks seldom occur. There was a man at the bus stop with his dog. We recognized each other and started talking about his being at a bus stop. Neither of us really cared but empty conversations are how real conversations are started. He had a black eye. So did I. His story was normal, involved a misinterpretation at some point in his time at a bar. I didn’t have one. I told him the truth. I woke up with it. I wasn’t at a bar but I had been drinking. I’d spent the last three days inside my cave of a room living off peanut butter, shit movies and gin.

He told me about his one man theater show as we both walked up the hill. I told him I was wondering if I still had a job. He laughed. Everyone always laughed because they always thought I was joking. He was on his way to see his girlfriend whom lived a few blocks from me. I told him I hadn’t had a girlfriend in four years. He told me he was in the middle of remodeling his house. I told him I rented a room from an ad I’d found on craigslist. He told me he could put me on the list for his show. I told him I’d hoped that I would be working. We both had black eyes.