I am the red parrot fish you watch in the Chinese take-out joint while you wait for your cheap dinner.
How did I get here, to this bar, to this seat, laughing with you, a man whose conversation is burnt toast sticking to the roof of my mouth.
The other side of the bar is Antarctica. I go there for exploration and frostbite. That’s what his conversation does to me. I’m cold and desolate. Alone…