First Prize winner of the 12th Annual Literal Literary Postcard Story Contest
Blair says he plays online poker for a living because he is ill suited to the compromises of corporate life. I ask if maybe it isn’t because he’s been fired from every restaurant in the city for insubordinate belligerence and that maybe if he found work in a field where he didn’t have unlimited access to alcohol he would have more success. He said I was being an interfering fuckface and asked did I want seared pork belly with beetroot mash tonight for dinner or posole? And while I’m out could I please pick up a pack of Pall Malls and a bottle of Tanqueray? (Beefer is fine too.) I think staying at his place, rather than the mid-priced Ramada suggested by the department, is one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made.
In the shower this morning I notice a bunch of small red patches all over my body. They don’t itch but this worries me even more because an ex-girlfriend once said that’s exactly what ringworm looks like. I wear a dark grey merino sweater to the lecture this afternoon even though it’s July.
After dinner and six martinis Blair tells me I’m a crypto-misogynist because I don’t read enough female authors. He identifies strongly as a feminist because he loves all women and believes them to be a superior species. I told him that wasn’t quite the definition of feminism. Blair’s slept with over 120 women in his 35 years. Most of them are waitresses with huge tits and low self-esteem. He asks if I’ve read To the Lighthouse. I say no and he tells me to get fucked and drops his lit cigarette on the bed. This adds one more star to the existing constellation of burn marks on the sheets.
I decide to skip the last day of the conference. It only goes to 2 p.m. so there likely won’t be any booze served and none of the presenters are hot anyways. I stay in the apartment all day with Blair and we get high and watch old episodes of Rap City. Blair tells me if I ever want to finish my book I need to ensconce myself in a motel room for a week with nothing but a laptop and a shoebox full of cocaine and draw the blinds till it’s done. But make sure I get my girlfriend to come by every couple of days otherwise I’ll just spend the whole time jerking off and get nothing done. This is the wisest thing I’ve ever heard and I wonder if my supervisor finished his dissertation in six months this way. Blair says if I’m staying for another day he’ll make salade niçoise for us but with fried capers. But first we need to go get more cigarettes as I’ve smoked all of his.