jimmy

having had
one too many
martinis at
the bar with L,
we, or should i
say i strike up
a conversation
with a man
sitting next to
us. he's alone,
drinking, eating
a steak the
size of the plate,
that sits round
and white in
front of him,
he's alone, and
leaning in,
listening to us
talk, a
salesman on
the road between
jobs, between
wives, between
cities. adrift
perhaps, but who
knows. and of
course his name
just happens to
be jimmy. i blab
way too much
she'll tell me
in the car later,
and then again
in the morning,
shaking her head
and laughing,
and i can't
agree more.