Some Dignity
How this modest yet altogether boastful slip of soft off-white paper got into my hands is not entirely clear: Roland slipped it into my back pant pocket as he was, not necessarily copping a feel, but basically that. Mind you, I had only known Roland for about 35 minutes, and within this 35-minute window of getting to know Roland Something-something, Borbabeaux? Barberino? I remember it sounding French or like a pizzeria, but I remember him telling me all these things about himself, like how he’s 54-years old and a lawyer, has three kids my age, has a predilection for Brazilian jiu-jitsu, calls it his “bliss,” is an international backgammon grandmaster, whatever that means, and adores the films of Jacques Demy, all these tidbits of information that I just honestly didn’t really care to know about because I was trying to pay attention to the musical talent performing in front of, not just us, but at least a thousand other people, which is sort of why we were all gathered at this venue in the first place: to listen to music, because it was, after all, a musical festival (pre-pandemic, ca. 2019). I only looked past the copping a feel because there was no way I was going to miss out on Nat and Alex Wolff and also because I had guzzled my way through 2 tequila zombies (4 oz. tequila, 2 oz. apricot brandy, 2 oz. vodka, 4 oz. grapefruit juice, 4 oz. pineapple juice, and lime to taste), so I couldn’t exactly feel it. In fact, I don’t even quite remember when it happened or if it did? I only just assumed because I found this slip of paper in my back pant pocket a week later upon folding the laundry.
