dinner and a movie

by Steven J. Serafiani

blind date,
a friend of a friend,
some Italian ristorante,
we sat across from each other tearing away at free bread,
the conversation thus far was tedious,
should have seen the hug at the front door,
comically inept,
“Tell me about yourself,” she says
my scotch arrived,
one gulp wonder,

“Well, I work a low-level job,
I’ll keep that vague,
save you the head nods and look of wonderment,
I’m a writer though, so I’ll be extremely poor,
I’m a depressive with an anxiety disorder,
I get bored extremely easily,
small talk bothers me,
conversation in general bothers me,
it’s just all so fucking trivial,
we never say what we mean,
most people are unoriginal and thus uninteresting,
just regurgitate shit they hear or read or see,
let me see here,
oh, I smoke like a chimney and drink heavily.”

the waiter came back over and asked if we were doing OK,
I tapped at my glass,
“Another my friend.”
She was now pushing her fingers into her dinner roll,
a pattern of buttery indentations,

“Back to me,
I’m a narcissist,
I mean really self-involved,
selfish,
so fucking selfish,
I was thinking about getting a dog but who am I kidding,
I’m terrible with money,
I flirted with the hostess when I went to the bathroom,
and when I look at you,
I mean you seem so sweet,
maternal,
but all I can think of is how you look naked,
I just want to fuck you and not talk to you ever again.”

she downed her glass of zinfandel,
sat back in her chair and looked at me,
her eyes narrowed,
she seemed angry,
not sure what the hell she was thinking,
the waiter returned and asked, “so what will we be having this evening?”
silence ensued,
her eyes still piercing,
she then sat back up, smiled and pointed towards her menu,
“I’ll have the…”

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