a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all

Dear K-

Though still struggling with a sore throat, I am feeling happier. The days are chugging along as if powered by a mechanical conveyor belt- dragged forward in a never ceasing, steady progression mostly due to long days at work and busy nights. I haven’t spent much time in my apartment lately. I’ve been drifting.

Last night I went out to a smoky bar and chatted with a friendly bartender for a few hours, made a few whiskeys disappear, then trotted back home reeking of cigarettes and liquor. Smoking is banned from many establishments here in the city, so when I do happen to spend a night in a smoking-friendly environment I am reminded of how overwhelming it can be. My eyes water constantly and the scent lingers for days, despite showers and febreeze and laundry detergent. It’s a persistent reminder of the choices I make in the evening hours. But I still go to those bars, mostly because the bartender is nice and she shares my name, so there is that false psychological bond where one thinks more highly of someone due to a common trait. We also have long, double-jointed fingers and a shared appreciation of Jameson and PBR, but that’s another story.

So I appeared different when we met. For me the changes are so gradual that I don’t notice anything, besides something more drastic like when I dye my hair red. But it has faded to copper now- nothing too notable or comment-worthy. You seemed mostly unchanged, except perhaps bigger. I always forget people’s shapes and sizes- I have trouble with body images. In my mind I tend to neglect to include references to height, weight, mass, energy. You’re a fucking bear. I can’t describe it in any better way, and I don’t mean offense by it. I like comparing people to wild animals. You are a fucking bear.

I’d probably be a whip-poor-will.
-K