Marilyn

I met her in a pub. I went to three places before I found her. Beautiful in her blond Marilyn hair, waving her hand enthusiastically behind men holding their drinks, and she was happily playing in the sea, splashing liquid joy all over, drinkable. But I didn’t want to drink. I wanted to sit there with her without hurry, without desire for anything else. I wanted to laugh with her, trust her sweetness. But a woman cannot sit in a pub like that. There is always a desire for something there, must be, why else would you be here, said a man who came to say something about my eyes. He wanted to look me deep in the eyes and rub my back. My Marilyn went for a smoke.

So, it’s a trap where you can be harassed the way you are not harassed elsewhere, people were there to grab, to drown, to stare and do what they could not do elsewhere. Someone said, Christmas is a hard time. Fuck! Grab your pint! Whatever I thought, I became frustrated and angry. Marilyn why are you in this hole? I wanted to ask. M said knowingly, you only live once. Oh well, I loved to watch her put makeup on sitting next to her beer and the bartender smiling when she was looking for lipstick from her purse. I love when people here know me by my name , she said.