I went 20 days into March without thinking once about basketball. A triumph. I suffer from current event malnutrition. Suicidal tendencies from a guy at the bar make me think about staying alive as long as possible—Glossy high heels--- Longevity. Tendencies will define you. Fact: stomach in a knot. Not my head. I blend into my environment like salt in sugar. You can taste me here, but you don’t mind because you are eating soft pretzels covered in warm sugary icing. Why is she here? Stomach tight and small. Do something out of character… why…. sip, sip. Sip a little at a time. You are waiting for me to sit next to you. You shouldn’t be alone. You read. You are wearing shiny high heels. You laugh at funny things. I don’t laugh because I didn’t hear the joke, but you defiantly laughed at a funny joke. Bloody footprints fill the floor. Not bloody, but wet with water on the hardwood floor. Particle accelerators. Tim McGraw wrote the most offensive song ever. He’s married to Faith Hill. He is very sensitive. Some people call him Timmy. Can I get what he’s having? X-ray vision. I’m gonna stay here as long as she does. Love of stomachaches. You keep looking at the door. That will be $4. Hands the bar tender a sheet of money:10”x15”, $1’s.