the catch in the night…

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I knew a girl once,
Not any more,
Well, not in the way I used to,
But when I did,
She would often tell me that I have a type,
A type of woman I like,
Which I would deny of course,
She would say this in that way that women say things,
You just feel you’re walking into something,
So you just object,
Even when the objection itself feels like the object of the statement,
And so she told me I like them young, arty and fit, and I denied all of this,
Until yesterday I was talking to this one girl late into the night and she was not so bad when she smiled,
She was telling me about my writing style,
I don’t know what the fuck that is but it was a warm night with a slight chance of sex so I kept the conversation flowing,
The wine was also good, and the music not so bad,
She was telling me about voice and style and I was just like “yeah, yeah” and nodding and stuff and all the while trying to get a good view of her ass with just the right amount of obvious,
I don’t know what a writing voice … or style is, the fuck if I care,
But I can remember the moment I decided to write a work of fiction, it was after reading The Catcher in the Rye, and so I’m back at the source,
I’m at a crossroads in this little story I’ve been working on and I need literary distraction, I read the opening paragraph of JD Salinger’s classic and I’ve been reset, today shall be a good day,

Oh and yes … she is young, arty and a fitness junkie.

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