Leaving the bar. 


Alone. 


Walking to the bus station in the Louboutins.


Alone. 


Travel on the bus and get harassed by a poor young girl off her tits asking me if her earrings go with her outfit and where is the stop for the Valley.


Still, alone. 


Flatty watches a movie, down two microwaved-from-frozen chicko rolls. Yum. But fear of what it's now doing to my guts. And thighs for that matter.


Shower, bed, mac. Twilight. 


My Friday night. 


Sometimes the loneliness feels like it's going to stretch on forever. 


Something has to give. Doesn't it?