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|Turkish Delight (standard:Flash, 567 words)|
|Author: Mirrorshades||Added: Mar 03 2008||Views/Reads: 1962/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|a night of thinking|
Turkish Delight The name of the place escapes me now, more than six months later, but it was a stylishly dark restaurant in downtown D.C. where I found myself sitting with a longtime friend recently returned from his second tour of military service in Iraq. The place was a small, warm break in an otherwise chaotic street, a Turkish den filled with exotic gold foils stamped with reds and greens. A giant antique hookah filled the room with the smells of spiced tobamel tobacco as we sat in silence, studying the menus and enjoying the quiet company of the other. It had been nearly three years since we'd seen each other face to face. “You were right by the way,” I said casually, closing my menu and waving to a distant waiter who showed no indication of concern. “About what?” “The fucking. That first year was great, but over the last three we've fucked probably like a dozen times or less. We hardly kiss anymore.” He laughed caustically, then sympathetically. It was one of the many complex reasons for which he'd recently been divorced. He'd cautioned me against it before, years ago, and I'd given him the same transformational laugh he'd just given me, though now I could see and even admit he had been right. Of course, in his case it wasn't merely the lack of fucking that had broken him down, it was just the plain and simple fact that he had been left out of all the fucking that his ex-wife was enjoying on a nightly basis. I waved at the waiter again, but the cocksucker found another table to fuss over instead. “Well, do you love her?” He asked. “Of course I love her. It's just,” I had to struggle to find the right words, “we're more like good friends now than anything else. You don't go around fucking your best friend unless you mean to make more out of it, and it feels like we're working in reverse. I don't even think I want to fuck her anymore. We're roommates, we help each other pay the bills and not look like losers eating alone in restaurants. It seems like that's all we've got left.” We switched the conversation to politics for a few minutes, and then talked college sports for a while. “What would she say if she caught you cheating on her?” “I don't know. That's the truth.” I looked for the waiter again, but he was nowhere to be found. “ Well, we're in D.C. and there are tons of women at this conference. Get some action and don't worry about it.” My friend, the jaded therapist. “Yeah, you're probably right.” I looked through a large window in the front of the place, beyond which were a crowded sidewalk running alongside a crowded street. Hundreds of faces beyond that glass, all of them strangers, covered in neon light and pulsating energy. Just a few years ago, the two men currently sitting at our table would have been strangers. “Come on, let's go out,” I said, getting up from the table. “Not hungry?” He asked. “Nah.” A waiter suddenly appeared at our side and demanded that we sit and order. I told him that he'd just lost two customers because of his shitty service and that he could go fuck himself. The night was young, and we were done taking people's bullshit. Tweet
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