Reasons I Went Home with Them: an Alphabet of One-Night Stands
A seemed tormented and sad and was into history and Existentialism and porn and played basketball and piano.
B was planning on going to nursing school, and he saved me from the guy at the bar I didn't want to talk to.
C could talk about Foucault, philosophy, and sociology at length. I guess you could say he had me at "Foucault." And he played in a band.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?