"Hey Kitty, how are you baby?" says the bartender.
Love this bartender. We used to work together and I haven't seen him in months. It reminds me how much I miss him, miss working with all my friends here. We were a family in our own way. A dysfunctional one, but still...
"Your hair looks great," he says.
Really? My hair? What does that mean? The blondeness? That it's light? Or is he talking about the book? Or does the rest of me just look okay, but my hair looks great?
All of these questions. He is too busy to ask, his bar three deep and full of queens.
I ponder these notions anyway as I talk to my blonde friend and sip blonde wine on their open patio.