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11:25 pm 11.21.11

Scene:  a dive bar with an orange neon sign, downtown Los Angeles

It was the night of the extra couch surfers.  The suited gent and I had escaped into the bar that has the oldest liquor license in the city.  Little did my fancy cohort and I know at the time but this particular spot is owned by the same group that also owns our favorite fancy establishment in the city.

“Ask me anything you want.” he said as he bitched about his drink.

“I’m too sober for this conversation.”

“I’m not.  Ask me.  This doesn’t happen very often.  Take it.”

“I don’t think this is a good time to have this talk.  We’ve only known each other a little more than a week.”

“Ask me.  I want to know what’s going on in your head.”

The text came in from the woman who was letting us both couch surf.  We had originally made plans to enjoy the weekend together.  She was going to be out of town.  Now we were stuck sleeping together.

In between the hand holding and the kisses, he started to counter his actions with words completely in the opposite direction.

“You shouldn’t like me. ”

“Oh god really?  You’re drunk.”

“No you really shouldn’t.  I’m not kidding.”


“I’m emotionally unavailable.  I’ll cheat on you.  I’ll lie to you.  It’s how I am.”

“And what if that in itself is a lie?”

“It’s not.  You deserve better.  I’m telling you.”

He held me close and kissed me again.

Like the illusion that encompassed him- both things were true and lies at the same time.