Javier Melancholy Part 3.

Javier Melancholy VS Hipsters, Bad
Poetry, the Rocker Girl and Construction Workers.

By Drake Tillman

         I'm at this hipster bar having a glass of wine and a slice of
pizza. These fucking hipsters, they try to tell me I'm a hipster
too.  I'm not a fucking hipster. Then they say "That's exactly
what hipsters say."

That's exactly what I would say to someone I wanted to be in my
group that didn't want to be in my group... so fuck off.

Dim lighting, moody bartenders acting like they don't really
need tips because their trust fund pays their rent and tuition
anyway. A band is playing some kind of Spanish/techno/rock ...I'm
reluctant to call it music. Music is something in and of itself that
blends notes in fluidity or even in harsh gouges against each other
but blends them nonetheless. And just because you take a few
different styles of actual music and throw them together doesn't
make it some deep, original music. There's probably a reason no
one's done it yet. Fucking hipsters. And techno is nothing more
than a nuisance anyway. At least it's not fucking poetry. I don't
dislike poetry as a form, just most poems written by people that call
themselves fucking poets because they can make some goddamned lines
rhyme. Hell, I don't even like my own poems.

"Hello? Are you listening?"

I forgot I was here with someone. Remember the rocker chick? Yeah
so do I but how the fuck did she end up here with me?

"I'm listening, I'm listening."

"No you're not, you're listening to yourself, you only hear
yourself, even when you're not talking."

"That's simply not true."

"Yes it is. You don't listen to anyone."

"Goddammit. Are we married? Then back the fuck off. Jesus Christ
woman, who even invited you?"

"You did."

"My mistake."

"You're an asshole."

"You're surprised? You said you wanted a date. Fuck me, I just
can't win."

"I'm leaving."

"Well I'm still an asshole. Also, I will still be an asshole
tomorrow. Let's name some more obvious things happening around us."

Now do you see? This is why I don't fucking date.

         Do you know what I hate? Goddamned construction workers. Are they
ever actually "working"? Fucking Christ. They're always just
standing there counting the moments until they eat again. I'm
becoming a construction worker, fuck this shit, I'll have more time
to write as a construction worker than as a fucking writer. And I'll
make more fucking money.

         I'm in my shower, the water is rushing over me like a warm
blanket and it smells different in here, floral. Did I buy a new
brand of soap? No. I must've left the goddamned window open again.
Fuck my head hurts, I need some goddamned coffee.
Why's my dick
sore? Did I jerkoff last night? I was drunk wasn't I? Of course I
was, I can't remember why my dick's sore. I can hardly sleep
drunk without hurting myself, how the fuck did I jerkoff?

         I don't remember much from last night, just that I saw that
girl's band play again. Before you assume anything, I'm not some
creep, I like their music, I don't have to get along with the band
to like their music do I? Am I on fucking trial? No. Stop judging me.
Fucking Christ.

Somebody's knocking at my door. It's like 11am. What the
fucking hell? It's the singer girl, why the fuck is she smiling at
my door with coffee?

"Hey, sorry if I woke you up, I just thought it would be better
to get an early start to the day."

"What are you talking about?"

"I got us coffee."

"Us?"

"What?"

"You should leave."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You should sit down."

"Alright?"

"Look, I'm very sorry if you feel that I took advantage of you
last night. I have the utmost respect for women and certainly
independent women such as yourself but I have a goddamned penis and I
was very inebriated last night and I apologize that this happened but
we cannot move forward with-"

Why's she laughing?
"Oh my god man, we didn't have sex."

"What?"

"We didn't have sex last night. You left the club last night
with some girl you'd just met and I told you last night that we
were going to go see (The Artist) in rehab remember? Goddammit I knew
you were too drunk to remember. Jesus Christ. Also, you've struck
out far too many times to even fucking dream of that happening
anymore."

I didn't see that coming. But it's true. I look over my
shoulder and see a naked tit in my bed. Thank fucking god, just a
one-night stand.

Ah, embarrassment, my old friend, it's been so long, what 8
hours?

"Very well then. Let's go."

"You're only wearing a towel."

"Obviously I'm going to change first."

         Shortly after the most awkward car ride in history we reached the
rehabilitation clinic I had somewhat forcefully checked my friend the
Artist into. Or gotten arrested for drugs and after being arrested
was ordered by a judge to check into, however you'd like to look at
it.

         The Artist was doing goddamned superbly. He's done some
fantastic paintings while sober. He's using the other patients'
details of fucked up life experiences and bringing them to life. I'm
calling it a sober drug, reality is the most potent drug there is,
that's why people need fucking drugs to get away from it, of
course, you know how that ends. After he got a few things off his
chest and the orderlies calmed him down, the Artist and I had a
pretty good conversation. He knew I did what I did for good reason,
it was more the method he was at odds with. Oh fucking well, dealing
with junkies isn't my goddamned specialty alright? Could I have
gone about it differently? Of course, but I didn't. I'm an
asshole, but we're still friends.

         Wait a minute, it was 11am, too early for lunch, my window was
open earlier and there were no jackhammers. Fucking hell, they must
be done with the construction on my block. Maybe I'll finally
fucking write something I can sell, the last thing I need is some
girl getting in the way of that.

         Turns out, things go better when you just randomly talk to some
fucking stranger in a bar rather than pressuring yourself to date the
chick singing in the rock band at the bar you're at. Some random
girl and I slept together and she knew to get right the hell out the
second she woke up. This is the way it's supposed to be. But she
didn't bring me the shitty coffee I like, the bitch. If you're
not going to fuck someone good enough for them to remember,
regardless of how drunk they are, the least you can do is bring them
coffee.

I'm just fucking with you, I'm not that much of an asshole.

...But an offer would have been nice.

2014 Drake Tillman