I wonder what it would have been like if we knew each other as college freshmen, Blair said aloud- not exactly as a question that necessarily required an answer; not a genuine inquiry but rather wistful romanticism, meant to hang in the air as the opposite of a tragic missed opportunity– an adorable what if. I told her that we wouldn’t have known each other, her as a hopeful sorority pledge- sure of nothing but enjoyable experiences on the horizon for the next decade, a certainty she’d bet the house on- and me, in my black jeans and Misfits t-shirt; smoking clove cigarettes around the time I realized that life only gets a little bit worse with each passing year. Explaining to Blair that women exist and men are made; that women are gifted their value upfront, that as a college freshman she was living a lifestyle equivalent to that of a millionaire playboy at a beach resort- the world at her knees; only good vibes on the agenda. She wouldn’t be caught dead talking to a ghoul whose invite to the party must’ve gotten lost in the mail.

So why cash out now? Finally clawed my way into what’s left- mostly empties and spilled beer. Vomit caked into the carpet, stinking of acid and sulfur. Why settle now that I can revel in the shit heap- the king of hell- aging women at my knees like the cover of Love Gun (1977). My line on the graph infinitely heading toward the top- with another month at the gym; ten thousand Twitter followers; a million dollar bitcoin, I’ll get there eventually. Why should I settle- the God of thunder, taking what’s left and using every last bit- the Ed Gein of dating. You don’t cash your chips in ten minutes after learning to count cards, but how much blood needs to be spilled, Vlad?

[Excerpt from: AFTER HOURS]

Lesson: Maybe you tell me? Stay single forever, gaming the girls you can until you age out- or get your fill, use your skills and built value to one day hopefully vet the right one? At 40, it's a question I'm still asking myself...

K I LL T O P AR TY