Mismatched vibes. I laughed at the part where the homeless people were stabbing and killing each other. Also at the part where big swollen testicles were in frame. I didn’t wanna check to see if she was having a gay old time like I was. That would be creepy. Thought, maybe if I laughed it would tell her that “this part is supposed to be funny.”

Three hours of pure-concentrate anxiety (and other negative emotions). The kind of movie that makes you want a cigarette and multiple bottles of wine when it’s over. She said “dude, I’m not feeling it” when we were in the parking lot. But I knew the situation right when I heard the word “dude.” I am not your “dude”. I am your knave. Your pair of swollen testicles for the night. And I needed to feel a little rare (ie. sex with no condom).

I was looking for a new kind of kick, but she kicked me right in the gut. Intestines. She said she felt nauseous after the picture. A woman unconditioned to grotesque, obstructive sensations. But I don’t resent her. I am well aware of how I tried to force the star into the square hole. Force my star into her square hole (possibly autism).

On the way to the theater we listened to music. We listened to music (something we do share a taste in) and saw a car fire off the highway ramp. She saw it first and the first thing I asked was if it was a Tesla. These are my quips. Lines of speech sprinkled into the air between us in hopes to season the silence.

On the way back I offered her the wire to put on her music, but she preferred the silence. Admittedly, I was a little over-stimulated by the movie too, but music would’ve been at least some medical gauze for that quiet ride home.

She had parked her car at my apartment’s garage. I walked her to it, gave her a hug, told her not to feel bad, and then had to take the spot she left empty.

I took the rickety elevator – the one with my footprints on the door from kicks – and was faced with profound loneliness in my home. The fridge was lacking of beers so I quickly took the stinky elevator back down to walk to the convenience store.

In the alley just outside my building’s garage, I saw her car parked with the engine on. Had to literally spin on my heels and go in the other direction. I imagined she was in there vomiting. But then I imagined she was in there texting other prospects to see if she could score some sex from more well-ordered sources.

I got back to my place and enjoyed three cigarettes and an equal amount of Pacifico beers. Sat on the porch and texted an offensive amount of people in my list of contacts. Guess I just needed some company.