witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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I moved. “Canada’s most populous city.”

“Good for you” say the hometown heroes with a crooked grin.

In the bar, my old city plays against my new on the tv overhead. I pretend to care only if to avoid the burning gaze of the man next to me. It bores into me—icy but scorching; like squeezing snow into the palm of your hand.

“What’ll be, love?” The Irish bartender is a trope. And so am I, seated alone reading Vonnegut and swirling a drink in my hand. My designer coat draped over my shoulders like a disgraced debutant. I spend money I don’t have, drinking cocktails I shouldn’t drink with company I don’t care to know.

“Good for you” say the hometown heroes like grinning crooks.

4:40 p.m. - Thursday, Dec. 07, 2017

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