Happy Hour

by Marlowe Granados

Seeing someone you used to love is like visiting a house you once lived in. Everything about them is familiar yet strange.

“Remember, girls, if you’re not at the table, you’re on the menu!”

I was happy I made an impression because when you are not looking to make one and do, it shows real magnetism.

Some people think that in order to make an impression on a pretty girl, one has to be mean to her. People think girls who have certain magnetism have never known Real Struggle, so they take it upon themselves to give a little bruising and a hard time. They think we should always be learning Life Lessons.

Though we give the appearance of it, I wonder when we were last truly carefree. Were we ever? It’s an odd, impalpable thing to always chase. I’ve felt it in small, delicious fragments, and usually when I’m dancing. The only way to achieve even the veneer of such freedom is to resist being pulled down by the weight of everything.

being a muse is not for the weak.

Sometimes you take for granted the way the summer sun sets after eight. If you walk slowly enough, you can hear bursts of conversation from each patio. I love the way restaurant sounds bleed onto the sidewalk.

All I could think of was peeling the skin of a Valencia orange in bed on a bright morning with someone pulling me into the covers because they want to spend two or three minutes nestling before starting their day.

How sad it must be to leave all those roots—that colour, that music, those dances—and arrive at a place this beige. The tyranny of a strip mall!

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.

“But you know, I always prefer the way I see things,” I told her as she lifted the glass to her mouth. She asked, “Why’s that?” I crossed my legs and said very seriously, “Because it’s all mine, and no one can convince me otherwise.”