THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
He's annoyed because I keep dropping hints about his real life to the other people who work behind the bar. He likes anonymity there- he chooses closeness carefully.
I think we are different in this, but I'm not sure. He tries to remain unknown, and then divulges everything to those he deems worthy and holds them close. I tell everything, carelessly, to anyone really, but never let anyone in. I still cannot let any person into my space. Any space.
I lean across the bar, and I can't tell what they're thinking. He's poured me three drinks, wordlessly, and I have just stood there, watching him work, throwing out an occasional line. I stand beside him when he leaves for a cigarette.
I still don't have a job, and this makes him roll his eyes. He just got a promotion, assistant manager at this place in the city. He hates the bar, but it's closed on the weekend and money is money.
He says, 'You want to work here?'
I say, 'You just want to be my boss.'
He leans in close, 'I've been your boss for years.'