Thought Catalog

Seems like the reason I agreed to come to this bar is because I don’t have a reason not to. Does that make sense, in some grimly logical and existential way? I’m a “path of least resistance” kind of guy, and I suppose her text “at lone palm come overrrr” is a fairly resistantless path, the honking river of traffic slower than the pedestrian gait with which I walk to the bar. The martinis are really good here. “Hendricks Martini, up” I say, which I hear myself saying one or two more times. The bartender is quite attractive, though it’s rude to look at women when you’re with one. I suppose the reason I came here was for her, the endless never arrived at horizon of so many hers, all of them lined up as a faint line in the distance, my worrisome advances precluded by the most cordial of rejections. The path of most resistance.