(Published at The Writers Club)

I drifted down a thoroughfare.
I was ghosted by an internet date.
My car broke down on the 501;
I sipped a latte as if to cry in a glass of wine;
just my fucking luck; heaven released tears
as though a big brother had empathy
for me, or was rubbing in my pain.
The disgrace of pressing
through the doors without a date
tugged at my self-esteem.
I couldn’t find a lover in a small cafe.
A car pulled off the road.
“Sorry, I’m late,” the voice of my date said.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2023 AC)

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