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I Get Out of Bed for Coffee

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we were drinking wine
and
listening to a record
at least
some of us were.

 

some of us
were asking stupid questions
trying to network
when that wasn't the point
gassing people up for no reason
touching people
blinking eyelashes
and
complimenting the idea of science—
as if it needed complimenting.

 

like
How do you guys do it?
see
I’m an artist.
I put my feet on the floor
every day
so that
I can get my story out 
so that 
I can change the world.

 

I’m from South Africa
and 
I lived in California
and 
I lived in Switzerland
and 
I’m just so kinda quirky like that.

 

but you guys—
so noble.
Scientists.
I could never do that.

 

Why do you get out of bed?
What puts your feet on the floor?

 

like there exists an alternative
like there exists a better alternative 
like there are all these things that need to get done
and
someone has to do them
for one reason or another
we’re it. 
Why does anyone do anything?
Why did you come out tonight?
Why are you trying to seduce a 55-year-old man?
Why are you touching my necklace?
Why do you complain about the size of your apartment?
You have a fucking apartment.
You have eyes.
You can go wherever you want.
You have a partner who holds you deep at night
when
work’s too much
and
rent’s too much
and
people are too much—
Everyone is crazy except me.

 

I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t wanna hurt anyone’s feelings
anymore.

 

David took a long drag and answered for the both of us:
            “I get out of bed for coffee.”

 
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