Friday-night smell

He was the guy who hangs out with security
and makes wise-ass remarks.
Seemingly harmless and obviously tickled by his own perceived cleverness,
and the fact that security has yet to tell him to leave off.
I stopped in for the ATM, tolerating his attention for
the two minutes I had to stand there.
That distinct Friday-night smell was hanging in the air;
alcohol, worn carpet and pheromones.

I had already met one of his kind;
continually jerking-off his own words,
and expecting the world to reflect the kind of logical
cynicism you can't argue with
without running the risk of admitting you're an optimist.
The first time I met him I engaged his battle,
enjoying the spar,
but forgot him as soon as I got home.
When we met again, I didn't remember him at all
but he reminded me that I had worn a bright red coat,
with boots up to my thighs
and that I had insulted him.
I remembered the conversation because he had said that
you should pick a lover who's like a dog
because you can kick a dog and they always come back;
you'll never know love like the love of a dog.
He drew me into another conversation;
all the while I was thinking that
my boots had never reached my thighs
and I'm only insulting when someone deserves it,
but the coat had definitely been red.
It was the first of many arguments-
the first of many verbal mastications and masturbations.
After a while I forgot that he was mistaken about my boots,
and that his first perception of me was
a heady impression instead of a sober truth.
I forgot that he was looking for a dog.
There were a lot of late nights with the Friday-night smell.
After a few months
the conversations started to go on repeat
and the cloying smell of Friday started to gag in my throat.
I stopped saying hello to him
and put away the bright red coat.

I pulled my money out of the ATM and turned back
to the mindless chatter.
I said, Well it was nice meeting you.
A lopsided grin asked, Do you really mean that?
I said, Of course not.
As I walked out, the security guard winked at me and said,
Good girl. If you come back, I will buy you a drink.
I'm pretty sure the security guard will remember that I wasn't wearing boots.
I happen to be an incurable optimist.