i can't say that Glen was completely useless in bed because i don't remember much of the details. all i know is that when he woke up, he was in the kitchen.

i turned on the stereo and hit random. John Giorno was mid-sentence:

and i never thought it would come to this
and i'm scared of dying
and i keep thinking about the same thing
over and over again.

the poem was called Eating the Sky [huge mp3] and i'd always loved it.

Glen immediately started talking over it.

"you got a hangover?"

i did. "no."

"you were pretty smashed."

i nodded.

"want some breakfast?"

he'd scooted around the corner and bought a box of cheerios. dobbs would have made omelets or fritattas.

it's a mistake being here
it's a mistake being here
it's a mistake being here
it's a mistake being here

"could you just... go?"

"what do you mean?"

"could you please leave?"

"but, i'm eating."

"take it with you," i pleaded, and without any effort, i turned on the waterworks. if there was anything most men didn't know how to handle it was a woman crying over something they didn't understand.

he put his spoon down and left without saying anything.

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