A Study in Egocentricity

I sit aloof in the snug booth sipping vermouth pretending to listen to my friend, let’s call him J___. He prattles on and on about some bitch he’s trying to lay and some investment deal he’s trying to seal. I wish I could give you specifics but I can’t cause I don’t really listen. I just nod my head and every now and then blankly say, “I totally agree” or “you’re telling me.” My thoughts, as is usually the case, are somewhere else. My troubled mind is on the red-eye flight: destination, another time. Under the pale glow of the pale lights my sushi roll and noodle bowl look so alien and unappetizing; like future food perhaps from a future film from the fifties complete with spacemen in shiny, future spacesuits that convincingly talk to clunky, future robots. I pick and prod at my food trying not to be rude as J____ lewdly goes on about how good H____, a girl we know, looks nude, and how she tastes even better too. I fake a smile or two, and even force a laugh. I perfectly play my part in his imperfect plan to imperfectly fuck every “bitch” he imperfectly woos.

The white noise of the swanky bar drowns out the incoherent shouts of a broken crack-whore standing outside alone. I spy her through the glass acting crass trying to draw undue attention from the departing bar denizens. J___ notices my gaze has shifted and turns around to see what I see. We sit in silence for a minute, maybe three, intently staring at the unfolding scene. J___ turns back around and raises his glass as he smugly laughs. “Glad it’s not me” he chuckles with glee. “Here’s to life, money, and the pursuit of pussy” I weakly raise my now empty drink and solemnly nod, “I totally agree.”