she lost yesterday to Virginia Ruano Pascual 7-5, 6-1.
she called me and then hung up without leaving a message.
i was playing softball.
we won 15-6.
when she finally reached me she didnt want to talk about tennis.
i almost pulled my quad running around second, i told her.
are you in love with karisa? she asked.
i was stupid, i said, ignoring her, which is what you should do when girls are being girls. i didnt jog i didnt run, you should always run around the field first then stretch then sprint then jog again.
’cause you sure did kiss her ass. she pouted.
i mean, i know i dont look 108, but tonight i feel about 75. my left leg. my arm’s fine though. and i almost thought i broke my foot when i crossed home.
do you even love me any more, tony?
no, im no longer in love with you. i told her.
when im on the phone i pace. people used to make fun of me until i saw the thelonious monk documentary “straight, no chaser.” a fellow libra, monk would pace and walk in tight little circles and talk to himself. he talked to himself when he played too. even if you have a crappy stereo if you get the verve recording of “alone in san francisco” you can hear him approving of certain runs or well struck notes.
i play monk any time i can at the department store.
and when i do i talk to myself quietly.
how old are you, anna?
ok, i change my mind then,
i still love you.