Embraced by a sunset, gazing out over a bay, you'll briefly
come to rest this evening on the shoulders of a young woman named Brandy.
Brandy will be a poor fit for you - she will, by and large,
not be terribly bright, and she won't have much of a sense of the brevity of
her own life, or of how precious every moment is. She'll primarily be interested in
relationships for monetary reasons, and she'll be a bit of a self-avowed
racist. The humble degree of
self-awareness required for such matters will elude her - she'll think of
little but what is immediately before her and, as such, will think herself
happy without ever considering what happiness is.
You will, however, for a handful of moments, settle over
her, filling her with notions that there is something more in the world, that
something bigger than her exists and beats within the hearts of a multiplicity
of humanity existing as a framework for some other, greater consciousness or
emotional truth.
This vague sense, even diluted, will bring tears to Brandy's
eyes. Not because she'll be struck by
how remarkable existence is, no, no.
She'll start crying because she'll feel sad: if she's been wrong about
the world, her whole selfish, awful, meaningless life to this point will be
unjustified.
So bear this in mind when she shrugs you off and runs over
to the Miyata, where her boyfriend du jour is sitting in the driver's seat,
waiting for her to come back with the drugs he sent her out to get. Bear this in mind when she tells him
"she feels faggy out there" and insists that he leave with her right
away. Bear this in mind when she walks
down an alley to blow a stranger for coke.
It isn't you, or some failure on your part. It's something she lost, or perhaps more
correctly, something she never had.
Congratulations Tender Yearning!
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