New York #8


The Bar …

My sister has owned it for about 10 years …

I always come here for the holidays 

But right now it’s summer

And there are a good thirty people inside…I haven’t seen Jo since after Laura died…

She’s probably going to be mad at me…

I walk inside 

And sit at the piano,underneath the Paris lights picture 

Jo is working the bar 

I sit and watch 

She seems happy 

Or maybe just busy 


Or just occupied ….

(How do you feel?

I look at the rows of books on the shelf,the brown carpet,the brown chairs,I wonder if he’s read every single book,is that something a psychiatrist has to do?. Or is it just a thing that they have in their rooms so we look at them…

“So tell me about Laura, what was she like?”

” I really,really don’t want to talk about Laura…can we talk about something else?” )

I leave Jo and the bar and decide to go back to my place 

It’s a lot easier

A lot easier than facing Jo right now 

And easy 

Is,well, preferable 

To so many things 

And that’s something that I need 

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