It’s so easy to be a man.
Another woman. Another drink. Another joke at the expense of someone weaker. Another decrepit fool who in his space of farts and spilled beer can pitch anything worthy into the trash and find respect.
I want you to listen but you slide your eyes over my face instead. Maybe you’re right about that woman next to you, but I don't think you are because you're wrong about you. On the bed or the bar stool; you treat them as interchangeable stacking objects, give you convenience or give you death. Hot water and whisky. The wheeze in your laugh makes me want to vomit, and I don't swallow it for you. The vomit splashes on your shoes, the tiniest amount. You don't turn your head as I cough.
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