probably the coolest man alive.
sixty and on a world tour.
sixty and knocking up south american girls like it aint no thing.
sixty and can still sing.
the celebration started early here in the hollywood foothills when i went through with a date that i had with a girl who during the last two meetings wouldnt so much as even kiss me. prounouncing repeatedly on both occasions that she was “over” me.
over.
and because life is a roulette wheel where one should always bet on black sometimes the girls who are over you will miraculously find themselves under you when you least expect it.
for no good reason. not like you deserve it. not like you did anything right.
dark skinned girl.
not of this world.
full lips thatd id kissed before but forgotten about
permanent pout.
we talked through the best movies and brainstormed
she told me i had great ideas and i went on and on cuz i do have great ideas motherfucker.
we hadnt kissed or held hands or done anything other than sit on opposite ends of the couch.
and i said lets continue this conversation in the other room.
only one other room in this house.
always be closing.
and she said can i pee first.
felt like i was with an ex wife. familiar but formal. hesitant yet heated.
but better she said than any other
and then we toasted to mr. mick jagger.