There are girls you drink fondly to remember. There are girls you punish your liver to forget. There are girls you drink with. And then there are girls you drink because you are with them. This was one of those dates. Right off the bat, I met her via Match.com, and should have been prepared for it, but God damn was Elise pretty to look at. Five eight, dirty blonde, and two pallid green worlds centering her face. I would have told her my name was Cash Bundren, but that was the problem with Elise, she was well read. She was the kind of well read that likes to shove it in your face. She also thought she was well read in people. I don’t fancy myself the most complicated of sorts, but I don’t think she can readily assume I drink heavily from order two Makers on the rocks in the span of three or so hours.
I couldn’t tell if her looking every which was in the bar was ADD, disinterest, boredom, a ernest desire to people watch, or an unholy amalgam of all of those. But we were talking, and all of a sudden she goes, “So talk.” I just look at her long and silent. “Isn’t that what we were doing.” I can think of nothing more inducing of silence as to say, let alone command, the verb talk. She’d talk her job, she’d name check some authors to convince me that she was well versed, but I can’t really call a lot of what we were doing as human communication. It was vapid, and it was hollow. She was looking every which way, and I was looking to the bottom of the glass.
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