She hadn’t replied but I left Friar’s anyway. The air in there was sweet and sweaty, and there were hardly enough black girls. I lurked outside, leaning on some knee-high patio and watched the sprawl of students outside the bar. Feeling self-conscious, a person who reminded me of a friend I held in high regard sitting drunk across the road, I moved on, towards the girl who had been occupying my mind the last week. She wouldn’t be there. I walked in her direction knowing she wouldn’t be there, knowing I would be sitting on the stoop of some dark house across from The Rat and Parrot with its wailing pop anthems.
The half-Asian guy
The guy who looked the bassist
The drummer with an injured wrist
All in the men’s bathroom
For over 30 minutes
Unaware of Instagram
The hot chick who used to front for them
My knitted jersey that seemed to bother them
And my knowledge of sum 41 and blink 182
Which soothed them into a state of friendliness
All in the Rat bathroom.
Black Dog in the Garden
Stare at a spot and the trees merge,
Different green lights,
The black dog was having a good time on the grass.
Rolling this way and that,
Moaning, snorting, pawing at the ground, stretching in pleasure
Then he moved to the metal gate and sat, watching.
His eyesight was poor.
The violent thing rarely left the confines of the garden,
With its tittering boundary of bright trees,
And concrete walls.