Common

Bourbon and cigarette smoke mix in my mouth.  The room is the darkest crimson, shadows are black.  I listen to the exaggerated whispers coming from the couple nearby. He leans accusingly forward. She remains undaunted, half-reclined in the chair, which allows her languid, apathetic posture to match her attitude.  


What's the point?   _____ queried. 
"You can't criticize me. We're not a couple."
(Laughs) Truth is truth. It is not synonymous with criticism. 
"I don't owe you anything."
It was just so uncool.  You were wrong. 
Uncool in the way of which only the common are capable.
                                           Disappointing, that's all.  Anticipated, but still disappointing
"Well, I guess I shouldn't have told you."  _____ says, sneering. 
But you didn't tell me.  Your blatant insinuation failed in subtlety.  Similar to the overall failure of your good impression upon me. You see...
"What?"
I apologize. Let me simplify all of this for you. You see, you are common.  Not at all singular, in contrast to your presumption.  Your behavior is common among _____ , and I spotted you a mile away.  I was simply biding my time until you showed your true self.  Now, as I point out your true self, you are calling it criticism.  But you see, _____, I'm an 8 or a 9, and you? Well, you're... like ... a 5. That is also a truth, and simultaneously, a criticism.
"You're a _____!"  (rather loudly)
And you are boring me.  Good-bye.

to be continued...

©2014 Regina J McMurray

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