Tall girls and fruit

When I was twenty-four I dated a girl Lisa, who I truly loved. She was in fact a bitch to me, but at the time I didn't see it. Anyway, eventually Lisa broke up with me and I was as devastated as a boy could get. I resorted to only eating watermelons and mangos in the shower (which is awesome by the way). This saved time and allowed me more time to mope around. I couldn't be bothered to cook. I just wanted write letters to her, compose songs, and steep in the glory of my own magnificent sorrow. 

A few days later Lisa called me. She wanted to say goodbye in a better way, because she was moving to New York. She asked if I would meet her for a drink. I was so happy! Yes, I would meet her for a drink. Later in the evening I walked down to the bar where she wanted to meet. We met. We talked. It was nice and cathartic, until my friend Wes showed up. 

Lisa and Wes were getting along swimmingly well. So well, in fact, that I felt the need to extricate myself from the situation. I walked to another bar and drank way too much. Around 2am I started to walk home. I was in front of a stone church when my phone rang. It was Lisa. I was eager to hear her voice. On the other end I heard her and Wes mid-coitus. It had been a pocket dial. The most untimely pocket dial in the history of cellular phones. My body literally turned to a liquid and I melted into the bushes. Sporadically I remember strangers checking on me, walking by and pondering this well-dressed kid in the bushes crying and writhing around. I stayed there being cradled by those bushes until the sun came up and there was just too much foot traffic to make suffering publicly a reasonable option for me.