Canadian Thanksgiving

Its dirty outside and this bed clings like wet grass clippings. The floor is covered in trash and a hand me down ash tray lays face down under the table. The clock is flashing near the window. There's two fingers left in the bottle and we fucked in the alley under Miami. I can't get her out of my head. It was brief. She was screaming and fully clothed, her back pressed against an old brick wall and my teeth sunk deep in her neck. No one came. Neither of us. Her new one, bearing my strange resemblance, was waiting at the bottom of the bar's crooked steps and she calmly readjusted her dress. I gave her five minutes, maybe three, then sauntered upstairs smelling like pussy. My father's leather jacket fit like a glove. I held back a grin and ordered myself a new drink. Here I am.