bad intentions
it’s 1:30 in the morning.
Greg’s buddy is here from Tucson. he’s an alright guy. you can tell, he’s a decent person. but he’s got a giant monkey on his back. and that would be Greg’s sister.
that’s how he and the mystery roommate met. this guy used to date the sister, and they recently broke up. he’s from Tucson by way of Canada, so he doesn’t really know anyone, and apparently, Greg’s sister decided to get back together with her estranged husband. kind of left my man out in the cold, but that’s the way it works. he hasn’t gotten over it. and as soon as he gets a few drinks in him, it’s all he wants to talk about. with anyone who will listen.
he’s in his mid thirties, balding, wearing a Hollister t-shirt. he makes bank as an exterminator, hourly, and is working toward his helicopter pilot’s license. and again, he’s a nice guy, but he’s a bit of a fuck-up. I mean, fuck. who does this? she’s married, man. and you’re bringing up your ex-girlfriend’s rack to her little brother.
I’m serious.
he’s also a Minnesota Vikings fan. that’s about right.
he came out here in October. and after a night of boozing in Mexicali that I’d rather forget, this lost-love Greg’s sister shit comes up.
when I got home from work tonight – about midnight – he was already hammered. and kept on bringing it up.
as we speak, it’s going on downstairs. he wants Greg to give him his sister’s phone number, so he can call her, now, up in Barstow. she lives up there with her husband and toddler.
every time I make too much out of a girl, pour an infatuation into someone, I’ll think of him.
I know I will.
it hasn’t so far, and I won’t let it ever come this.
