Preface: I moved to Los Angeles from the Bay Area for a boy who promptly dumped me and kicked me out of our apartment. Being alone wasn’t so bad until the Warriors’ went for the record the same night as Kobe’s last career game. This is my ode to that.
It’s approaching 6:30, almost time to pack up and head home- only it doesn’t feel like home and I don’t want to go there.
And the warriors are playing, and I should be excited, only I’m alone, and don’t want to watch another game by myself in a town where Kobe and Griffin rule.
And the tears prick the back of my eyes because I knew it would be hard but no one told me just how fucking hard it would be.
And some boy who promised me everything gave me a gapping hole in my heart and low self esteem instead.
And picking up the pieces seems like too fucking big of a task.
But damn, Curry is back playing so I gotta go.
Here I am. Drinking whiskey and watching the Warriors play.
But this time, something feels different.
I’m still alone- but it’s the kind of alone you crave.
The kind of alone that fills you up.
Just me- sitting at the bar with cheap booze and a new sense of peace.
Fuck you, Kobe. There’s a new cobra in town.