I’ve been watching you since that first hit
four and a half cigarettes ago. I haven’t taken my eyes off you since you moved
down two seats closer to me and ordered another drink.
Three drinks later my eyes still hadn’t moved away from that deep red-colored flannel.
I couldn’t taste what I was drinking any more. I would regret it in the morning
but I didn’t care. I would keep drinking as long as you were
there. You finished your eighth cigarette and slipped
out of that flannel to reveal a white V-neck that stretched over your strong arms
you’d probably deny you worked hard for. Another drink

was placed in front of me. Looking at the bartender
he pointed to you.
For the pretty lady that cost me more than half a pack of cigarettes and six drinks.
Raising his drink, we clanked glasses and I took another sip of what I swore tasted just like I imagined
Your lips would taste. I woke up
the next morning with a folded piece of paper
lying in the empty, wrinkled sheets beside me.
See you next Friday. It was then I realized
he'd forever be my favorite hangover.