Philadelphia Stories: "We're all Kenny Rogers"

I walked back from the Thriftway thinking about how amazing it was that Sonya has been my checkout girl two of the three times I’ve been there. Maybe it’s a sign. I could make a life with that porcelain skin raven haired goddess of groceries. Yes, she is a smoker so I would have to start again. Yes she smokes Newport but I could be mentholated. Yes, she is well tattooed but who am I not to accept her dark love. All this Sonya thought had me start working up a sweat and this made me think about whether the heat had kicked on after I left. I had forgot to turn it off when I left but if it had come on while I was sweating in the street I would be very angry now that I have to pay for heat. An anger few things could bring me down from. Maybe the love of a checkout girl with hair as black as a bucket of tar and arms like a graffiti tagged train car. I made it back and the heat wasn’t on in my apartment. It was on next door.
I hadn’t learned my neighbors’ names yet but I had ran into each of them in the hall once. I told myself that I would take from the school of WWRZD and introduce myself but now wasn’t a good time. For the sake of this story, unless I learn the names by the end, I will call her “the female” and him “the male”. The heat next door was the anger the male’s old lady, the female, was putting on him. What I could put together from the screaming was that the male had broken a tree by opening a door. I obviously had gotten few definite pieces to assemble. I wasn’t worried for the male though. These things always end in lovin’. He just had to sit it out. Once the steam is blown off its time to retire to the bedroom and pour yourself a cup of love tea. For a drink of his whiskey I would had given the male some advice. To shorten any female’s anger spree one should always have Kenny Rogers’ “Lady” cued up on the stereo. Kenny’s subtle sweet talkin’ tone could bring any she-beast down from her holy than thou perch on a tree you broke with a door. He obviously didn’t have this golden ticket so he went the amateur way. He got in his car and left. I’m not saying this can’t be an effective stratagem, but in this course of action you at least waste money on the driving around gas or the money on the five dollar Budweisers at Ned and Doris’s Happy Tap when you have the perfectly good fifty cent Schlitz back in your refrigerator. At worst you have to sleep on your friend Bill’s futon with the stains no one has yet to address for the fear of actually knowing what they were. We all know Bill is what I’m saying. The leaving the premises is a good move though. Not as good as the “Lady” but we can’t all be perfect. Leaving the female a little time to think about things, compose herself, and miss your musk just allows for refermentation of the love wine. I bottle they both could get buzzed on the next day.
The sun rose on the next day and the male returned. I hope he slept in his car. We all know Bill is what I’m saying. The male when into his apartment and he and the female began to talk. I couldn’t pick up what they were saying because it was quiet talk this time. The quiet tones had to be pre-coital love speak to make the world right again if I knew anything about relationships. Their door opened and I assumed someone was caught short of profelactics to seal the deal on this love transaction. That’s when he said it, “I’ve got to get out of this apartment. We fight all time about everything. I’m gone.”
He obviously had another Kenny Rogers song cued up…

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.

Ev'ry gambler knows that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep.
'Cause ev'ry hand's a winner and ev'ry hand's a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep.

I never will know the male’s name but in his final words I found an ace I could keep.
You know who knows a thing or two about relationships...Kenny Rogers.

Bittersweet

I like my love songs like my drinking stories...bittersweet.
That must be why my drinking stories are love songs and my loves are always a drinking story.
I've never had bittersweet chocolate. I've got time.