Last Night at Luster's
Arctic Monkey's, "Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High," was faintly registering in the back of my mind, and I felt like I was underwater because of the zoned-out state I was in. I probably should not have been fixating on the dance floor where we met because I could see his brown eyes and tousled dark hair as if he were there. It definitely didn't help that I was on my third Dirty Shirley. There was no way I was enjoying Luster's shitty bonafide hole-in-the-wall, yet somewhat charming atmosphere tonight. Usually, my roommate and I would be able to walk into our favorite bar in Pacific Beach, and once the overwhelming smell of sweat and saltwater faded away, pure bliss would encompass us. Turns out ending my situationship with Bobby actually hurt a lot ... maybe because he was the only one I ever had real feelings for. Oh no, I was spiraling.
