Pothole pt. 1

Remember when we met your sister for dinner? She had a doll-face on, all smiles and polite. Maybe that is some sort of evil after all. The niceness. The giggling. Well Seth not everyone can be an artist like you, she said to me after you’d gone to the restroom, re my inquiry into her incessant bright mood. I never told you this because I didn’t want to upset you. Your sister can be a real bitch behind the banter.

But so anyway remember that night? It was a healthy restaurant of some sort, the elderly couple sitting next to us was letting their water glasses fill up the space of their absent conversation. It had maroon-colored walls, something earthy for the healthy restaurant, nothing flashy, all maroon and deep blue and leaves on plates.

Is it evil, though? This niceness? And god I remember I was so sore from a massage I’d gotten earlier, a massage that’d been more like a torture chamber as I death-gripped the edges of that skinny leather bed, biting the towel that sat beneath my face. Torture chambers, too many of them in the world you know? God I hated that restaurant. I hated it just like I hated standing up from that massage, from the tenderizing, feeling a pass-out impending but I managed. Here’s some water, some tea, pay us please, leave a tip. I couldn’t walk right afterwards, couldn’t head down the goddamn subway stairs without feeling like my neck was giving out.

I feel I’ve gotten sidetracked, and really that isn’t so much a bad thing. It’s a good thing, but why is it a good thing? I don’t really know, can’t really say. Something about it feels natural maybe. How often do we think in perfect narratives? Honestly. Do we ever do this? Life is more like flipping through the channels than watching a movie. Life is the commercials that happen between what you want to be watching.

In the healthy restaurant your sister asked how I’ve been doing and I said fine because the more fine you seem the better you become at deceiving yourself and since this is and always has been my goal, I shut up. I bit into my leaf. Nobody needs to know the truth of things.