Happy Hour

by Marlowe Granados

His eyes had a glint of boyish mischief. I never trust that kind of look because what defines the line between mischief and wickedness?

I suppose you can see the stars better from outside the city, but what is the point if it only reminds you of being deserted?

Maxime asked what I did. (How have we not invented new forms of conversation?)

You can’t buy charm, but you certainly can spend it, and if that’s true, you can certainly withhold it too.

I didn’t laugh either because no one said anything funny, but they all laughed anyway. I sipped at my drink, each sip endorsing my silence. It is truly a gift that I can alter the disposition of an occasion entirely. I am small but my mood radiates. I can make a whole room unbearable.

Our friendship over the weekend had gradually turned student-principal—and I was always getting called for detention.

Grief doesn’t always start with death. It can come before that, and once it starts, there is no end in sight.

Daughters make single mothers more vulnerable than lone women. Even when I was small I could sense that. My existence had put her in a precarious position where she was to protect both me and herself.

“In life, you must familiarize yourself with what is glamorous.” People used to fault her for her irresponsibility, but when she died, they said, “At least she set out to do whatever she wanted. I’ll give her that.”

When I see other people with their mothers, I get jealous. I count the years they have had them longer than I had mine.

I’ve never found use in talking about grief with anyone. Even the people you expect to be a comfort always disappoint.

Nicolas thought it was odd for her to stop drinking so quickly. “Why quit something she’s so good at?”

do wonder whether who I am when I’m alone is who I am really. I feel most myself reeling off a sprightly rhythm of conversation to whoever may listen.

It is funny that most people want money for the power. I want money so I can have beautiful things—surround myself with them.

Anyone who prefers minimalism probably had everything growing up. When you are never left wanting, you never want much. I

It is naïve for people to think that I wouldn’t dare. I am in a state of holding back, suspended, waiting for an opportunity worth my time and energy.

“How can you really ever know someone? People change and are in a constant state of revealing themselves. To think you know everything about someone is to leave yourself vulnerable to surprise.”

Sometimes making bad decisions really takes no time at all. In fact, you realize you’ve been itching to do it all along. Deep down, I think it comes from being so angry at having to restrict yourself all the time.

If I am reckless, it is because I am tired.

I suppose to savour is to hold something in your mouth for more than a moment, to linger and draw out its details. Sometimes you are far too hungry to wait, and things get lost. Perhaps it is not a coincidence that I write things into remembrance. I like to linger long enough to name pleasurable things and seek out more.