So that happened. Once upon a time.

This is a dialogue I am having with a girl named katelyn? Yes. It’s Katelyn. phew. I thought I’d forgotten. Anyway, she can’t hear, mostly. She can read lips like a motherfucker, though. It’s pretty impressive, actually. She doesn’t know a single fucking piece of ASL (American Sign Language) Actually, she said she knows a couple letters, asshole.

Anyway, we met under the most unusual circumstances, but those don’t really matter. What matters is that she can’t hear and I want to have a conversation faster than we have been having.

She can read words on a screen much faster than she can read my complicated motherfucking ass lips.

Ok, so here we go.

‘I like it,’ she says.

But I won’t narrate all

her words, just mine from

this point. Ok. So, do you know Karl?

Ok, Karl was my whole invitation into this weird as fuck whatever this thing is I fell into. He’s a really simple, really nice, and very, very intuitive guy. He’s been told he’s bipolar all his life, and he is, technically. But he is one of the most emotionally tuned in guys I’ve ever met. Too much.. He’s clearly prone to some kind of violence, and he claims that I talked him down from something really bad on Saturday night when I met him.

I honestly have no moral qualms with escorts, prostitutes, whatever you want to call yourselves that isn’t demeaning.. I don’t judge. I am grateful. So when I playfully asked him to hook me up with some girls (I was actually just talking like, you know, normal girls at the moment, but he was like, hey, let’s go tonight!) So I did — that was last Saturday night.

I met him because he knocked on my door and asked if I needed any work done. I could look in his eyes and tell that under a lot of bad shit, he was a really good, well meaning human being.

He washed and waxed my car — which someone just ran in to — and cleaned the shower in my bathroom for $60. He worked hard, and we got to talking, and it turns out we both smoke weed, and I said, oh hey, my guy flaked on me (who is actually my — )… and, well, shit happens.

Probably not as salacious shit as you might be thinking.

Just shit. But at least it’s real shit.

Almost like real shit.

It will have to do

for tonight.