Dirtbag
IT'S BETTER TO BURN OUT THAN FADE AWAY
“Mr. Trenton,” Penelope’s voice rings through the intercom, “there’s a visitor here for you.”
“Tell them I’m not in,” I say. I’m not in the mood for guests today.
“I can hear you, asshole!” a voice screeches as Penelope’s says, “Alright, alright.”
I change my mind and stutter out, “Actually, Pen, let her up.” Not even a minute later, Dolly busts open my front door. She throws a greasy paper bag on the kitchen counter. I can tell that it’s Chinese from the strong smell of pork and rice. She knows I hate Chinese food.
“I brought you leftovers,” she grimaces. She browses through my fridge and pulls out a beer. I can tell she has had yet another run-in with Dick.
“Dick cheated, huh?” I sigh. I call all of the guys Dolly hooks up with “Dick” because they’re all assholes.
“I think that you, Jack Trenton, have found my life issues all-too repetitive.”
“That’s because they are, Dolly.”
Dolly stiffens up and throws back the glass bottle. Just like Hanson, she believes that getting shitfaced is the Almighty Answer. I actually look out for her, though.
“I’m sick and tired of guys fucking with me,” she mumbles. “That’s all I ask for—someone who is just straight-up and real and honest. Why the hell do these boys have to act like they’re still seniors in high school?”
“You look for boyfriends in dive bars and clubs,” I point out.
“I forgot,” Dolly says, “that you know this only because your friends are exactly the type of guy I go for. All you do is get drunk at clubs like fucking frat boys.”
“I don’t get drunk.” She laughs. This catches me off guard. “What?”
“If I didn't look at you like a brother,” she begins, “I would snag you up. But that would almost be like incest and I’m not into that kind of weird shit.”
“Good thing, because I’m not into that either,” I joke. She laughs again. We’re finally getting somewhere.
“Tell them I’m not in,” I say. I’m not in the mood for guests today.
“I can hear you, asshole!” a voice screeches as Penelope’s says, “Alright, alright.”
I change my mind and stutter out, “Actually, Pen, let her up.” Not even a minute later, Dolly busts open my front door. She throws a greasy paper bag on the kitchen counter. I can tell that it’s Chinese from the strong smell of pork and rice. She knows I hate Chinese food.
“I brought you leftovers,” she grimaces. She browses through my fridge and pulls out a beer. I can tell she has had yet another run-in with Dick.
“Dick cheated, huh?” I sigh. I call all of the guys Dolly hooks up with “Dick” because they’re all assholes.
“I think that you, Jack Trenton, have found my life issues all-too repetitive.”
“That’s because they are, Dolly.”
Dolly stiffens up and throws back the glass bottle. Just like Hanson, she believes that getting shitfaced is the Almighty Answer. I actually look out for her, though.
“I’m sick and tired of guys fucking with me,” she mumbles. “That’s all I ask for—someone who is just straight-up and real and honest. Why the hell do these boys have to act like they’re still seniors in high school?”
“You look for boyfriends in dive bars and clubs,” I point out.
“I forgot,” Dolly says, “that you know this only because your friends are exactly the type of guy I go for. All you do is get drunk at clubs like fucking frat boys.”
“I don’t get drunk.” She laughs. This catches me off guard. “What?”
“If I didn't look at you like a brother,” she begins, “I would snag you up. But that would almost be like incest and I’m not into that kind of weird shit.”
“Good thing, because I’m not into that either,” I joke. She laughs again. We’re finally getting somewhere.
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