April 27, 2003


Went to a party tonight. Got drunk. Danced. Left a note in a woman’s shoe. She wasn’t wearing the shoe at the time. It was under a chair. I’d seen her leave it there. With her other shoe. Even drunk I’m paying attention.

I gave her my email address. On the note. As I wrote it I was extra careful to make it legible. Because it would terrible if she wanted to know my email address but couldn’t make it out. She’d think, The drunk motherfucker what the fuck does this say?

I read through the note before leaving it. I wasn’t totally sure but it seemed that the “at” symbol didn’t look enough like an “at” symbol, so I rewrote the entire note with a better “at” symbol.

I did this in the hall outside the party. It was very bright which for some reason made me reason how drunk I was. Not reason; realize. I’m still drunk.

Now it’s the next day. I laid in bed all morning talking with her. Her name is Tess. This wasn’t her but an imaginary her. Although her name really is Tess. We didn’t talk so much as snuggle. She wore one of my t-shirts. At one point she cried but wouldn’t tell me why.

In another version (there were many) I went down on her. Then I decided it was too soon for that, so I wiped it out and started over.

In another version I watched her sleep. At a certain point her face became very intent, as though she was struggling with a math problem.

In another version she snuck out of bed in the early morning, put on her pants, and wrote me a note sitting at the kitchen table. She thought I was asleep but I wasn’t. I could hear the sound of pen on the paper. My fear, lying there, was that she wasn’t going to leave me her number. The moment she left, I got up and looked at the note, which she had left on top of the fruit bowl.

That’s how it ends. I never got to the part where I find out what the note says.