A few minutes rush by leaving us in a state of ennui. Another night, same as last night, and the night before. It's two and the bars are closed, so it's looks like we're closing the coffeehouse tonight. Another hour to figure out if I'm going home or not. Another hour to drink a couple a few more cups of coffee. Another hour to maybe finally get a chance to play pool after the NA kids leave the tables in time to get home before mommy locks the door. Another whole hour.

"I can't do it." Jayson throws his head onto my lap and yanks at his unwashed hair. He said a few nights ago that he hadn't used shampoo in months, and that's all I think about whenever he touches his hair. "I can't do it. I can't close down this place again. I love ya and all, but I can't do it." He writhes around on the couch knocking his sketchbook to the floor. "I can't do it." He sits up grabbing his stuff, ready to leave.

I throw my arms around him and put my head on his shoulder. "You can't leave yet."

"Trust me, I can."

"We've got an hour." I turn my big eyes on him. The eyes he complements every chance he gets. The eyes he says he can't live without.

He rubs my cheek with his thumb and shakes his head. "What is it that makes me wanna stay here on this couch with you all night."

"Pool."

"What?"

"The pool table it's open. You owe me a game." I stand up straightening my skirt, making sure the slit falls at just the right point on my thigh. I throw my arms in the air in a perfect cat stretch and then let them fall. I am sex, I think as I walk to the back pool table shaking my pantyless ass in his direction. I head toward the purple table, my favorite one, the color of royalty.

Jayson strolls grunge style to the back, and drops his bag into the chair. "Pool, huh?"

"Yeah. Pool." It's that time of night when language stops flowing and the alcohol usually starts kicking in, but we're doped up on caffeine and our heads are spinning from the uselessness of the situation. He just wants me to go upstairs and I just want to play my game, and that shouldn't include a happy ending for Alabama boy. Except we've been here four or five hours, and I'm starting to get bored.

I just spent four hours sitting on a couch with some guy who doesn't wash his hair and hits on all my friends all the while telling me how much he thinks he likes me. He's twisted, he should probably be on drugs other than what he smokes every night, and he's kind of pathetic. I feel sorry for him. I'm bored and the object of my game is wining pity. He misses another shot as I contemplate a sympathy fuck. I wonder if he looks as sad naked as he does in his thrift shop clothing. He probably has a small prick and it'll be over quick. Would it really be all that bad?

Bryan comes over and tells us we've got to leave or we're locked in until they're done cleaning. I look around noticing everyone else is gone. The NA kids, and the drunks from the bars on the block, and even the guy with the blue eyebrows who read physics books until closing every night. They are all gone.

I hit the eight ball in and Jayson and I leave. We walk the three blocks to my car in total silence. The streets are empty except for a few crack addicts lining the wall of the post office. They are too far gone to even sparechange. We get to my car and I hug Jayson good night.

"I'm gonna ask ya back to my place and honestly I'm kinda nervous about it."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm going to say no."

"Yeah, thanks. Remind me when I have the bottle of pills in my hand ready to drown my sorrow with barbiturates and JD to call ya up to really push me over the edge."

"No prob. That's what I'm here for." Opening the car door, I lean back into him. One last point before the end.

His arms grab my waist and he breathes in my ear, "God, I wanna fuck you so goddamn bad."

I laugh. "Doesn't everybody?"

"You don't even know. I go home every night with you in my head. Your fuckin' little waist, your big eyes, your legs. I only see pieces of you. I don't even have a complete picture, but there I am every fuckin' night like a prick on my knees, thinking of you." His words tighten his grip on my waist.

"Whoa, too much information." I twist trying to escape.

"Ya think I'm just some guy. Some guy, you're going to go back to New York and write a story about."

"You really think you're that fucking important."

"You enjoy this doncha? Ya come into town and make people fall in love with ya. You . . . enjoy . . . this." My ear burns under Jason's speech.

"Jayson, I have to go. Let me go." Not the time for a sympathy fuck, I guess. I have no idea when the game became his -- maybe it always was.

"Baby, ya don't even know how much I love you."

"I'm sure you do, but I really have to go." I can't believe that I actually thought about fucking him. Thought I'd do the nice thing and let him get some. He's a fucking psycho and I can't believe I would've lain back on his sheetless mattress and let him wiggle around for a while.

"I called ya baby. Look at that. I'm a fuckin' idiot. Here I am wantin' this fuckin' awesome chick in front of me and I can't get some girl in Austin, Texas out of my mind. She ain't half what ya are."

What the fuck is he talking about? I can't even say anything to that one.

He turns me the rest of the way around and I'm not even an inch from his face. If he was taller, I could lower my head and avoid the impending kiss, but damn it I had to mess with a short one this time. One of his hands holds my chin in place; the other rubs my back like a lunatic jealous old aunt trying to scratch the youth out.

He kisses me. I fight it, but he's busy sucking on my lip and doesn't notice the resistance. He shoves his thigh between my legs and bounces. It's like having a repressed dog hump my leg. I put my hands on his shoulders and try to shove him off, but the Navy must have given him hidden bulk, because he's somehow stronger than I am. He leans further and the door shuts behind us.

A car drives by and someone yells to get a room. That stops him long enough for me for me to say something, but I can't think of anything good to say, so instead I blurt, "We can't do this."

"Why not?"

Good answer. "Uh, we're right here on the street and all." If I can get him off me, I can get in my car. Except I realize that my keys are on the seat where I dropped them when he grabbed me. Fuck.

I've lost control of the situation; I know he wants to beat me down like his father did his mother and all those white-trash down south ideas keep pressing in on his new Southern Cali cool. Part of him probably really does like me, but the other part wants some good missionary fucking before I leave the state. No strings attached it seems, except sometimes he says more than he wants.

He talks about love and respect. Except, I think his respect comes more from the fact I watch pornos and can down a fifth of bourbon without flinching than from anything else. I can hold my own in his man's world and like to fuck the same type of chicks he does, so that makes me an ideal soul-mate. I should have stayed at home tonight.

He grabs my hand and leads me back down the street we just walked down. I give up and let myself go. "Uh, where we going?" I ask really not pretending to be coy this time. Just wanting to break the silence.

He stops a bit in front of me and smiles. Confusion flies across his face and I think he starts to realize what he just did. His hair's hanging in his face and he looks so small under the skyline of yellow street lamps and rustic hotels. I want to hug him and tell him to deny it ever happened. When you pull crazy shit like that you just gotta pretend it never happened -- go on with life and if it ever comes up say something like; dude, I don't know what you're talking about. Or; man, I must have been fucked up.

To wipe that unsettled look off his face I giggle and say, "Just kidding." He smiles, his eyes turned back into his fantasies. I grab his hand and this time lead him down the street.