There was a fat girl sitting alone at my favorite Irish bar Tuesday night. She was trying to talk to the bartender, who like the rest of the men were ignoring her, the fat girl had on a lot of makeup on as she was sipping a Diet Coke with a straw and wearing purple Calvin Klein jeans and matching cowboy boots. The bartender wasnt listening to her and I had this image of her, sitting alone in a room somewhere in the city, waiting for some-guy or friend to call her.
Its really lively tonight, the fat girl told the bartender.
Where? the bartender asked.
The girl looked down, embarrassed for a moment, and paid for her drink and I could barely hear her mumble, Somewhere, and she got up and button her top button on her jeans and left the bar and sometime, later that night, I had just realized that on Wednesday, I was turning thirty-years old.
Its really lively tonight, the fat girl told the bartender.
Where? the bartender asked.
The girl looked down, embarrassed for a moment, and paid for her drink and I could barely hear her mumble, Somewhere, and she got up and button her top button on her jeans and left the bar and sometime, later that night, I had just realized that on Wednesday, I was turning thirty-years old.