Hung up on the bitch
	He never thought much of himself. Second rate bullshit made him feel comfortable. It all was a straight line, a neat plan with an end. If he could just make her see it that way. The short blonde with the big tits. He has absorbed his salvation within her coming around that he just feels worn thin. So thin that yesterday during a long conversation about this guy she is seeing, he just explodes with a tirade of "who gives a damn shit", "nasty cunt". "i hope he gives you the fucking drip". Right down to the program that afterwards he gets a bottle of George Dickel and gets shitfaced. His phone rings and rings and it's her. The first time she's shown any interest in him and he's too preoccuppied with the booze. The booze will betray him, he is afraid that he may have to admit that he's always been in love with her. The next day he's hungover and feels like an asshole. He calls his mother and cries, begging for advice. She doesn't want to hear it. He calls everybody he has a number for, asking and taking input, a survey and nothing helps, it's all the same, be a fucking man. It's unanimous, he's an asshole and a loser. He decides to call her and apologize, then he remains silent, over the fifteen minutes he's listened to her boast about her date tonight, the same guy he called her a filthy cunt over, it's obvious. He's a loser who's salvaged something, maybe the illusion that he is a nice guy, unique. He pours out the remainder of the Dickel in a sink, swears off alcoholism and decides to clean the place up. He feels uplifted, almost noble that he can address his routine, accept the little indescretions about himself and continue with that straight line. A microwave dinner and a shitty sitcom later, the mundane and ordinary set back in. He feels as if he's looking through a window, then inside an hour glass. He feels like that fucking loser, just like his survey suggested. Through all the shit he's stacked up upon himself he just gives up, decides to sleep on it, swearing to treat himself  better. On the brink of sleep his phone rings and it's her, sobbing and making no sense. She's a few miles down the road abandoned at a store, through the insults and self sorrow he can make out a picture. Upon arriving she is outside and holding two sodas. Her eyes puffy as he opens the door for her. He is about to throw the car in reverse when she grabs his arm and sobs in it. He tries and comforts her by placing his hand in her hair, stroking it and admiring how it felt, how it smelled. She tells him he was right, she is a filthy cunt. Other customers walk by and glance over, one even smirks to him as if he's been there too. He backs out and drives her home as she tells him that after the dinner and the movie she blew him in the parking lot. "He seemed to be such a nice guy. He stopped at the store, handed me some money and had me pick up a couple of sodas. While inside he drove off, the fucking asshole!" She rests her head against his, calming down as he nervously drives to her place. He asks her is she is going to be okay while in her driveway. She nods and kisses his cheek, telling him he is so good to her. He can't utter a word as she kisses him on the lips, the same lips that were passionately around another guy's cock. She tells him that she loves him and exits the car to her door. She yells out "I'll call you tomorrow", as he nods back confused. He backs out and opens one of the two sodas and knows that she is going to linger inside of him forever...