it’s the law of diminishing returns. every man i fall for, cold war kids.

i got a sense that i was the one who had done something wrong when he saw me from a way, abruptly shook hands with the man he was with, turned around and walked away briskly. i knew him from his back, broad shoulders clothed in plaid, that fucking ponytail. and my heartcunt, like it always does at the sight of him, just stopped.

i signed a lease on a 1 br in east williamsburg. it’s basically the furthest you can go out on the L before the visigoth encampments. by day, hipster sentries, though sparse, run around smoking cigarettes and doing their laundry. by night, we trade with natives and do bad coke on our coffee tables. it’s a about two blks from true blue’s bar, like i will now be literally passing it twice a day. just a prime example of 1) the rising cost of new york real estate and 2) shit will chase you down.

i guess i wasn’t totally clear with the story of that night. when i walked in, i was drunk and had already decided early that i would be going home to john, not true blue because everything i felt for true blue was a ceaseless spent-ness. ya know? i tell myself that the strongest, most ill-fated lust cannot through whatever alchemy be transformed into an enduring, noble love. repeat. butbut when i saw him talking to her, the rage was deafening and i let a very young australian make out with me in full view of all his friends.

that boy naggingly pimped himself at me and i took him to john’s apartment where we proceeded to have the worst threesome ever. john, ever sure of himself, pumping away, while the australian, flaccid and forlorn sitting in the corner of the bed, trying. eventually, some words were exchanged, while i laid face down on john’s bed, laughing and the boy left.

what have i lost. is what my therapist would ask me. something about true blue struck that um, doctor-chord. where i sensed that he could only operate on low-to-middle levels of self-awareness, that anything deeper was not possible if he were to survive. he was always running hot, something dark and wicked cooking underneath.