December 18
I am crawling out of my skin. It’s as if gallons of raw, illegally-potent black market espresso is main-lining through my veins. The strangest thing, the most insane part of it is that I do not want to have s*x. This enrages me. I can only blame celibate Swan, who has not contacted me since abandoning my German meatballs.
I’m on the Second Avenue bus, headed to work after taking a sick day. I cannot stop thinking of Swan Man and his heartless rejection of both me and my dinner. I bought new cutlery for f**k’s sake. He refused to even touch me.
An elderly woman gets onto the over-crowded bus and stares longingly at me. I have a seat in the very front, a spot marked for the elderly or disabled. f**k her. She stands, teetering, looking as if she is going to moan in pain. I s
