He sits next to me, jangling the lighter in his pocket.
Five numbers of zipcode, and a list of preferences:
Smoking Always,
Drinking Socially,
And I upload his face onto the screen.
A woman searching for a man,
We scroll to him quickly, his long hair,
That his brother, my husband, once had,
The giveaway.
My brother-in-law.
As lawful as Vegas gets the week before Christmas when youre high on free first class tickets,
High on free drinks,
Pills plucked from the floor
In a hotel suite you cannot afford.
You do have to go to the courthouse. You have to walk past the men standing outside in a separate, longer line, waiting to pay their fees for public intoxication. But, My God, who here is not intoxicated? I could wax on about the lights and the drinks and the bells and the girls but we all know what Vegas is and some of us know what it is not. I curl a finger around my brown hair and tug at it, standing in line behind a man with an asian woman on his arm. He is ten years at least, her senior. She can barely speak English. Apparently none of his mail has reached her country because the post office has been opening his mail. The government wants to keep tabs on him, this man. Talking for my benefit, his dirty brown eyes look me over. And for a moment I am self-concious. Very aware that I am in a courthouse waiting for a license to be married the next day to a boy Ive known three years, one year less than both of my other long-tem relationships have lasted. But then I just drift back into the lull of thought that has served me well. I am wearing white today. It was not on purpose, I wear white most every day. I laugh at my own ability to feel self-important, to think that anyone in this courthouse, notices or wonders or even toys with the idea of my purity. Virgins dont get married in a Las Vegas chapel. But lets go back to that man with the dirty eyes and why he makes me ache.
My brother-in-laws face on the screen reminds me that so many of us are so desperate to be needed, to have, if even for a moment.
Hes just looking for a date. Apparently a hard drives worth of porn will only get you so far. Can only take you through so many nights. Together we look at Russian brides-to-be clamoring for a husband here in the states. We pity these men who are seriously looking for this. But come on, weve all got our price, right? Weve all got a cavity inside that were willing to pay, if it gets too far or the price is high enough. We laugh at the women, page after page of Annas, but not a thing in their resolve makes me pity them.
They are mostly beautiful. They list their price.
They are mostly beautiful, but at least they list their price
*edited for spelling.
Five numbers of zipcode, and a list of preferences:
Smoking Always,
Drinking Socially,
And I upload his face onto the screen.
A woman searching for a man,
We scroll to him quickly, his long hair,
That his brother, my husband, once had,
The giveaway.
My brother-in-law.
As lawful as Vegas gets the week before Christmas when youre high on free first class tickets,
High on free drinks,
Pills plucked from the floor
In a hotel suite you cannot afford.
You do have to go to the courthouse. You have to walk past the men standing outside in a separate, longer line, waiting to pay their fees for public intoxication. But, My God, who here is not intoxicated? I could wax on about the lights and the drinks and the bells and the girls but we all know what Vegas is and some of us know what it is not. I curl a finger around my brown hair and tug at it, standing in line behind a man with an asian woman on his arm. He is ten years at least, her senior. She can barely speak English. Apparently none of his mail has reached her country because the post office has been opening his mail. The government wants to keep tabs on him, this man. Talking for my benefit, his dirty brown eyes look me over. And for a moment I am self-concious. Very aware that I am in a courthouse waiting for a license to be married the next day to a boy Ive known three years, one year less than both of my other long-tem relationships have lasted. But then I just drift back into the lull of thought that has served me well. I am wearing white today. It was not on purpose, I wear white most every day. I laugh at my own ability to feel self-important, to think that anyone in this courthouse, notices or wonders or even toys with the idea of my purity. Virgins dont get married in a Las Vegas chapel. But lets go back to that man with the dirty eyes and why he makes me ache.
My brother-in-laws face on the screen reminds me that so many of us are so desperate to be needed, to have, if even for a moment.
Hes just looking for a date. Apparently a hard drives worth of porn will only get you so far. Can only take you through so many nights. Together we look at Russian brides-to-be clamoring for a husband here in the states. We pity these men who are seriously looking for this. But come on, weve all got our price, right? Weve all got a cavity inside that were willing to pay, if it gets too far or the price is high enough. We laugh at the women, page after page of Annas, but not a thing in their resolve makes me pity them.
They are mostly beautiful. They list their price.
They are mostly beautiful, but at least they list their price
*edited for spelling.