A nice quiet morning. Woke up next to a good looking man. Stared at his ceiling for a couple of hours. We get up. Get dressed. A kiss and a hug. Part ways. There is nothing not nice about a morning like this.
A nice quiet day too. Go home. Change. Brush my teeth. Cuddle Delores. Nice, nice, nice.
So I get to the coffee shop and surf the web. Doing some research for a matching tattoo for me and my fucking beautiful sister. Minding my own business. Eventually I go outside for a cigarette. Its cold, but kind of a nice sort of cold. I got a hoodie and a light coat, and my favorite flowerbox is open for the sitting. This guy rides up on a shoddy old BMX. He starts talking to me before he is close enough to hear him. Asks for a cigarette. I give him one. Introduces himself, and likewise for me. Shake. Then it begins.
He tells me things. Lots of things. Very quickly. All I did was listen and probably smile. He tells me hes an actor. And a male dancer, well lets just be frank, a stripper. Tells me about his clients. Five-dollar tippers. Ten-dollar tippers. He dances all over town. Clubs, private parties. Its good money for his daughter. One and a half years old. He shows me a wallet photo. Shes pretty, I tell him. He nods, continues. He lives with her mom, but they are not together. A lot of people think that that is strange. But his daughter is going to be a strong independent woman. A good father is good for a daughter. Not that single mothers cant hack it, but he believes in family values. His baby's mama has men over, they give him looks, but it is his home, he pays the bills, so whatever. He doesnt mind though. Shes a good woman. He reads to his daughter, well mostly picture books. Shes only one and a half after all. On and on and on and on . . .
All of this in one cigarette. I hardly said two words. Just smile and nod, look interested. If people are in the right mood, they will tell you anything and everything, especially if they know their encounter with you has a time limit. I live for this. I listen to a lot of people problems; I keep secrets and my word. This is one thing I am very good at. I like being supportive, I pride myself on that. Call me anytime, day or night, crisis or no crisis and I'll not only answer but I might even crawl out of bed and come over to see if you're ok. Sometimes, even if I dont like you very much.
But really, I get a ridiculous amount of strangers, mostly 40+ men, all completely harmless, telling me their life stories. If I want to hear a story, all I have to do is go sit somewhere, it'll find me it seems. Pour your stories into me. I'm a walking archive, I won't forget your life story, and if you are afraid of not having a legacy, I'm your girl. I wish I could get paid for this. I'm a professional listener.