one fifty-three.

The city groaned around him because he refused to see its beauty. His brow was furrowed, his hands were shoved in his pockets, and he was wishing it would rain. This was no different than his usual walks home, except tonight he left that bar knowing that he was right. The subway grate exhaled steam and it reminded him of her breath on his face.

The lyrics of songs from his teenage years went through his head and down onto his lips, where no sound came out. They couldn’t do anything but agree. All these bands knew exactly how she could be.

A car full of drunk kids passed by and one of them shouted something out the window. He could not hear what exactly, but he was positive it was a crack about how he had recently gained some weight and was walking home alone to an empty apartment. He wished he had a rock so he could meet them at the next red light and smash it through their back windshield. He settled, instead, for hoping that the driver had been drinking.

He went back to the conversation in his head. He played it on loop. His reaction had been warranted, he was positive. What she had done was unforgivable, and anything he could have said – let alone what he actually did say – would have been completely justified. He hadn’t even been that extreme. It’s not like he had used the word. You know the one. Though, if he had, he didn’t think she could have taken much issue with it. After what she had done, it was almost a favor that he had not used the word, and maybe the next time they saw each other – which, he had assured her, would be NEVER – she would thank him for being so restrained. Doubtful. She never appreciated anything, and the words he used had been bad enough. That’s what she would think, anyway. He thought the words he had used were just right. They were what she deserved. They were maybe a little harsh. If he had been proofreading, he may have crossed out a few and written in the margins, “When used so often, they lose their effect,” in red pen. He also may have noted that the character saying them would probably not have spoken so freely in such a public place, or brought up her past sexual partners quite as much. In the white space below the last paragraph, where you write the general feedback, he might have mentioned that the protagonist shouldn’t have had so many rum and cokes before the confrontation, as it could be perceived as cliché.

“Dammit,” was what he said to himself as he reached home.