obelisk

So I'm walking along last week and my phone starts beeping: it's a reminder note that says "9:30 pm--The L & L--Cathleen." Now the L & L is my favorite little dive near my house, but I was momentarily stymied as to what the rest of it meant. I'd left a reminder for myself, but couldn't for the life of me remember doing so. Then some vague memory filters back of meeting some girl there months and months ago... we'd had a very entertaining drunken evening, but she didn't live in town and must have told me she would be back in Chicago later that year. I dimly remeber saying something like, "well, I'll see you here then" and putting the reminder in my phone.

How could I resist? I go to the L & L (accompaned by another young lady who was indulgent enough to allow me to satisfy my curiousity). However I found no mysterious barfly-crush, no Cathleen-with-a-C. Just the usual assortment of crusty regulars who hang there on Mondays. Very sad.

So, if you ever read this Cathleen, know that I was there. And know that you missed out. I may not be able to remember what you look like or, really, anything we talked about, but I know that I would have been the man for you. The late-night Rochester to your drunken Jane Eyre. It was real, baby, and you threw that away.

Somewhere out there, some girl has an Obelisk-shaped hole in her heart, and she doesn't even know it.





(p.s. I'm hitting L.A. this Friday! Fun will be had!)