Spotted

I was coming home tonight, and hopped into the Bedford Avenue station. Just missed a train going in my direction. On the subway platform, as usual, were buskers. (Don't you love that word? It has such a medieval sound to it. Buskers. Busss-kerrrrs.)

One guy with a baritone sax, another guy tuning his guitar. The guitar guy glanced up at me -- and it was a guy I dated back in 2002, right after I first came back to New York from Colorado.

I dumped him rather unceremoniously as he started to live up to his last name, which is the word to describe what Saran Wrap does to a glass bowl.

I was working at the internet company and met a friend for lunch on Lispenard Street, at one of those old man bar, burger and beer places. He brought along his friend Aaron.

Aaron was a Texan by birth, and a musician as well. Son of a Lutheran Minister. Sweet and soft-spoken, two things that have never been particularly magnetic for me.

Well, somehow, lunch was over, Will had to leave, and three hours later Aaron and I were still yakking away in that bar. I got yelled at when I returned to the office. Didn't care.

We were inseparable for a couple of months, then I started to feel all, oh I don't know, all elbowey. It was a little too much togetherness. You know what I mean -- when you're completely into someone, there's no such thing as too much, right? But when one person is much more into it, the other person starts to feel a little suffocated.

True story of one of the nails in his coffin:

I don't remember if we were at my place or his. We were in bed, and I had just given him a very nice blow job, and we were just hanging out, talking. Easy-like. Then he decided to break out the confession.

"That's only the 2nd time that's ever happened."

Couldn't hide my surprise. Guy was 35, after all. And he was a musician who had only gotten two blow jobs IN HIS LIFE? One of them just a minute ago?

"Really? How come?"

"Well, where I come from, I didn't really know those kinds of girls."

Enter the Avenging Angel.

"THOSE kinds of GIRLS?"

Was this guy fucking kidding me? I was "those kinds of GIRLS?".Stupid motherfucker.

Cold and black-eyed now.

"And I suppose I'm one of those kinds of girls?"

"Well no...I didn't mean YOU...it's just..."

Let's just say, folks, there wasn't much time left in Dorothy's hourglass after that. I led him a merry chase, shit all over him, then dumped his pathetic Texas ass cold a couple of weeks later.

When we saw each other tonight, I saw him start to recognize me.

I turned my head and kept walking.