Marionette. Marie Antoinette.
Once I sat on a bus stop for five hours drinking 40oz. malt liquor beverages with my girlfriend. Amusingly, the CTA bus #59 only came once in this entire time. I’m glad they raised their rates. We made fun of ourselves for our ghetto date, of every passing hipster in neon skinny jeans. We talked about nothing and everything. The American beauty standard, the English language, freewheel bicycles, Hanson. This was five hours out of a longer ten. Our well of conversation was never dry nor boring. It is, for me, the reason we were dating in the first place. I’ve never met anyone with whom I could talk so easily and for so long without wanting to kill either myself or them. Compatibility in this regard is terribly difficult to find. Adding to that physical attraction, common interests and dislikes … The waters aren’t exactly teeming with fish.
Would we have had a fantastic steak dinner or some halibut at El Barco Mariscos, if my wallet permitted? Of course. Any two assholes having a steak dinner are having a lovely date. Someone you can sit on a bus stop with for hours doing nothing and like more than when you started is a pretty rare fucking find.
