Homesick for Another World

The boyfriend came and went on weekends. Together we drank wine and whiskey, romantic things I liked.

But he was one of those idiots about cigarettes.
“How can you smoke like that?” he’d say. “Your mouth tastes like Canadian bacon.”

I was broke, and I was a nobody, but I was happy.

Let them judge. Let them entertain themselves with their stories, he thought.

John sometimes felt as if he were just a strange appendage to his wife.

People were so dishonest with their clothes and personalities.

“Just bettering myself, as always.”