Nose Candy in the Home of the Bravo Network

Nose Candy in the Home of the Bravo Network
by T.M. Weber
shake me to wake me, like taking showers in the middle of the night. and doodle on hotel napkins or the skin of strangers. breasts like full moons tight under cotton, rayon, spandex, polyester; fighting to escape while we wait. legs that go on for days but last only for tonight. this is only a new years eve thing, only a celebration thing, only a it’s been a long day, kinda, thing. we can make anything into a coincidence; like giraffes. on a night like last night. rain falling hard on dyed hair and v-neck shirts. it’s almost time for flannels and boots. walking through puddles in canvas shoes proves to be a tedious task under conditions such as these tonight. with a beautiful young woman to my right and an umbrella shaking in my left. my pupils small and mouth ajar. thirsty for some love, some conversation, maybe even some chocolate milk from the corner deli on eighty-ninth. i pay in cash tonight and as fifty dollar bills break before my eyes i gather the change in my pants pocket. it was getting late and her eyes were closing. the battery on her phone was dead. the bartender scribbled a number on paper, the same as last week and the week before that. smiling as he passes it straight to me, knowing. it’s funny…the friendships you find in pints of radeberger on wednesday nights. the same three hags, barflies, every week. the fat one and the pretty one too. those two just moved in across the street and we can already tell they’re going to be trouble. the old man with the bushy eyebrows and riddles. alex. two guitars and the mouths that go with them, respectfully. push through the velveteen curtains back to the hot, wet evening air. breathing heavy up the hill. making plans for next week, month, year. we all lose our keys sometimes but i’ve finally lost my mind. somewhere by the subway, before the staircase but after the sidewalk. waiting is something we’ve gotten used to and to pass the time we complain about the heat. express trains run on local tracks at times like these and those and what tense are we in by now? forty-second street goodbyes and see ya laters and the next thing you know you’re home. untying sneakers and shedding skinny jeans. washing face skin and brushing tired teeth. at four a.m. we all want to chat about music and books, but only a select few actually do.