There’s Always a First Bad Impression


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I observed you for hours from Friday night straight into Saturday night.

We were vampires forging the time to our destinies. Breaking rules to exceptions with formidable decisions we made a year in advance but never embarked on. God had us in a bubble of safety and the universe gave way to our paths of delight, pleasure and bonding.

Yet I observed how your hand gestures changed from the beginning of light to dark, a defensive mechanism of instinct and worry between deals, friends and men in wall-street suits positioning themselves on corners like the boys in blue. Or how your crinkly grimace became hood, weathered with slight evil vengeance that became unspoken about, how your aura became vicious, distorted on reactions and careless as if I ceased to exist by your hip, how your walk became street as a globetrotting thug.

I know you as the heartwarming, charismatic personal trainer at work. The reserved man. The one everyone loves to fall in love with, the one who goes out his way to brighten and help other people’s day. Mr. Correct, Calm and Collective. The myriad of mysterious demeanor. Where are you and who was I with tonight?

I’m on the other side of the spectrum, noticing your alcohol intake, reloading on shots, no longer coasting like last weekend. I’m to overextend myself and hold you down, play the obedient role, head above water, which doesn’t copy but folds their hands, a well-trained student to remain sober and eye the spectacle of a grieving sloppy man, boisterous, foolish with fuckery, loud and embarrassing. Who are you? I’m picking up on your hints of onion layers now.

Where is that other guy I know?

-Pennington©

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