Kalah Allen

HEY, YOU'RE IN a band and I forgot your name (all you Portland guitarists are the same to me). I was walking alone to my car one night from the bars on Mississippi and you happened to be walking not far behind me. I asked if you had any cigs. Then you offered me one, after mentioning they were in your room, which, conveniently, was about one house away. We sat on your porch until about 3 am asking each other lame, small-talk questions. I later coerced you into taking me into your room and later, after drunkenly attempting to play a few guitar chords and letting you teach me how to juggle, I psychologically and existentially bombarded you and your life. Then I sucked your cock for literally one second and left immediately. Sorry for all of that. And sorry to your roommates for the noisy late-night ball-droppings on the floor. And sorry to the dude who witnessed me talking to, and hugging, my car at 4:30 am, like it was a person. (It took me 25 minutes to find it.) Anyways, to the guitarist, thanks for the cigarette, and being a gentleman.—Anonymous