Yesterday, sitting in a public park, I was propositioned by a hooker.
At least, I think I was.
Such uncertainty describes a loser who, when he vacationed in Thailand,
could not see all the sexpots that he knew were supposed to be all
around him, a mere wave of a ten-spot away.

I might have considered getting past my reflexive "no"
were it not that the not-very-attractive young woman walking
the streets of Manchester was likely looking for money
for her next drug hit, and perhaps of questionable health.

Long ago, a friend joked that I had a Take advantage of me
sign on my forehead.
Has it been replaced by LONELY in all caps that I can't see?

I'm used to being lonely, so used to it that I can take a pass on the
offer to exchange the snuggling that I lack for the money that I have,
when it comes from someone whose company would presumably
make me feel even worse.

About every thirty years, it seems, I meet someone who lights up my heart
like a full moon from an inky black sky, far from the interference of big city lights.
Someone who brings out the pessimist in me (never far away),
focusing on the 2% of the glass that is empty even while
exulting in the 98% that is better than he can ever have.

Instead of indulging in some pretended closeness — if even that — from
another human being, I went to a movie. The Menu, a non-superhero
non-rom-com that was entertaining and (to the horror of some Karen out
there) even provoked a chuckle or two.

On the way home, I added a last course by purchasing pound cake and
ice cream, an ineffectual substitute for even an hour of faux love.

In*grat"i*tude (?), n. [F. ingratitude, L. ingratitudo. See Ingrate.]

Want of gratitude; insensibility to, forgetfulness of, or ill return for, kindness or favors received; unthankfulness; ungratefulness.

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend. Shak.

Ingratitude is abhorred both by God and man. L'Estrange.

 

© Webster 1913.

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