I met the second new girl with a coke problem this week. I saw her at the library and started talking to her, just like my friends said. They told me I should stop meeting girls at parties, you don't find oranges in an apple orchard. So I met her at the library. Just my luck to find the one cokehead in the library.

We had a lovely conversation, until she got up to leave and handed me her phone number. She told me to call her later that night, so we could grab a beer or three. She had to run an errand.

"Oh, what?" I asked, because I already knew.

"Well, I need to go pick up some coke..." she said.

Of course she did. That's what they all need to do.

She said she needed it because she was tired, from working and writing reports all day.

She said she needed it, because it got her through the day...

She once said she needed it, because she loved me...

I used to script each kiss like a movie masterpiece. I'd imagine the cameras, the lights, the director. They'd pan across to our faces, the moonlight reflected in our eyes as we stared deep into each other's souls, a moment, electric, and then our lips are connecting. Fade out...

I stopped trying when I realized that we're just recycling the same damn script, playing the same damn scene over and over and over again. The only thing that changed was the actors.

The fantasy is gone, I already know how this ends. I'm no prince, and you're not fit for royalty yourself. Let's stop pretending that we're anything but our own flesh and bones.

I got home and tore up the piece of paper with her phone number on it, into little tiny bits. I watched them flutter into the black trash bag, and settle amongst the empty TV dinners and bags of Ramen.

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