i'm not jealous, i just can't take it

I spent the eve of Christmas in the pub with Hannah and 2 old men called Georgie and John. Dementia and drink makes old men funny. I come home and he's not here. I open a present and he doesn't care. I phone him and whine and cry and he's already thought of his justifications for being crap so it doesn't penetrate.

I met my beautiful stranger. I’m on my break with my skinny cappuccino, with 1 sugar, and a cigarette and there he is. Sitting on the steps, in my spot. I tell him he can borrow it. He says he's shy. It felt almost pre-rehearsed. He tells me about his life. I’m nervous, fumbling, shaking, smoking, and smiling. He’s unshaven, self assured, chatty and polite. I’m thinking... wow-this is ideal. Most probably too good to be true, but I take pleasure from it for what it is.