It is a beer in the morning, bottle smashed into the wall. More glass added the growing pile from several days of depression.
After all, screw it. She's gone.
It is the song played on endless loop in your head. You play it one more time from your phone to forget, but you remember. Every chord change is her smile, the twinkle in her blue eyes, the soft texture of her hair as it runs through your fingers.... That last lingering kiss.
Shaking your head, you dispel the ghost. You'll be damned if she fucks up your favorite song, the first song you remember hearing after you first made love.
You shake free and light a cigarette. She was on your ass about quitting from the moment you met. You suck hard on the butt, staring out the window. The neighbors mow the lawn, water the grass. The mailman hikes past on the sidewalk across the street.
Holding the butt, you study it. Smoke drifts off the end. You take another drag. You'll quit tomorrow.
You'll win her back tomorrow when you see her at the bar with her new man. He'll screw up. She'll throw a drink and slap him. Your eyes drift close and you kiss again when she runs into your arms....
"Marianne," you whisper her name one more time. Somewhere behind you, a buzzer goes off next to an old mattress you scavenged. All the furniture was hers.
You kick the alarm, yanking the plug from the wall. There's a spark as it comes loose. You try not to imagine her fucking him in that bed, the one whose outline is still visible on the wood floor. Resisting the urge for a second helping of breakfast beer. You scramble into a polo with a logo on it. You pull on some khakis that were in a heap from the night before.
Time to earn that bread. Besides, you're out of cigarettes.
Hours later, you're back at the bar. You lost the polo in the back seat of the car.
There's this girl, you don't know. She smiles. Somehow, you meet her eyes and smile back. You walk over and get her name. She asks for your number and texts you.
"XOXO." You read on the screen. She peers up at you. You peer down at her. You don't even notice whatshername and the big break up over by the bar.
You're too busy smiling at Amanda.