"I know all about you. Know what that means?"
I shouldn't think about things this late at night. Of course, I'm still not particularly tired, even after Luis Valdez. But I don't think it's being tired that makes late-night thinking a bad thing. I think it's actually everyone else being asleep. For me, at least, having other people around me prompts me to keep my mind from running away from me. The later it gets, the more likely my mind is to get ballsy.
I left Jessica's at about two thirty last night. We watched "Battle Royale," and we didn't even start it until midnight. I bought wine. I feel like she got the movie in a way nobody else would.
I don't like sitting on my wallet much, so I took it out and put it on the piano in her room. My phone, too. And I put my skateboard on the floor. When I left, I noticed that my wallet and my phone smelled like Jessica.
She's worn the same perfume since I've known her. I don't know what it's called, but she tells me it's a chocolate-based scent. I hate chocolate. I like her perfume. It's a heavy scent, one that tends to glom onto anything near it. If she's used a computer in the office recently, I can tell. And there was that one time I knew she had been in my house, just because some ghost of hers was lingering in the kitchen.
I think last night I was jealous of my wallet and my phone.
Sometimes, I wish Jessica had some big question she had to ask me. Something important, the kind of question you have to ask permission about before you ask it. And she'd ask and I'd tell her that I would on one condition: that I get to ask one of her and she'd have to answer.
And she'd ask me.
And I'd answer.
And then I'd ask my question.
I'd ask her, "Why not?"