you're at bar. I'm at table.

I suppose it is good to know that your intended believes you are hot.

On the phone that night we made plans to meet at The Fed for dinner. Maybe we would have better luck at Brightleaf than 9th st. I think I went straight from work, stopping at the Quick Stop/Sam's/Blue Light to grab a pack of Nat Sherman's. I walk in, grab an Indy, grab a table, and sit facing the windows. I got there early thinking that this way I wouldn't go home and fall asleep again and that I could spot him as he walked it.

I am lost in my own little post-work world of drinking, smoking, and reading the paper when I remember that I am there to meet someone. I look up and it's about fifteen minutes later than I thought. Shit! It's late. Where is he? Wait a minute...

That mother *&$%^@

He stood me up?!?
Who the HELL does he think he is.

I mean, I really did fall asleep. What is this, some sort of power play to show that he can stand me up to? What kind of child plans this sort of thing, just say you're not interested. Jesus. Really, this is where I am , dealing with asses with no sense of decency.

I am plotting what exactly I will say to him if I happen to run into him later and trying to figure out what my friends are up to this evening when I notice a guy sitting at the bar chain smoking.

Oh right, head down and reading the Indy really isn't the best way to recognize people when they enter a dark bar. My anger and disgust fades, I feel a little silly, and send off a text message.