Beyond the Point

It was raining, raining, raining, and I was going into the rain to meet him, no umbrella or anything, I was always losing them in bars. I was holding just a bottle of cheap brandy tight against my chest, hard to believe it said this way, but this was how I was going through the rain, a bottle of brandy in hand and a wet pack of cigarettes in my pocket. At one point I could have taken a cab, but it wasn't very far away, and if I took a cab I could buy neither cigarettes nor brandy. I thought hard, it would be better to get wet from the rain, because then we could drink the brandy, it was cold, not so cold, it was more the moisture entering through the fabric of my clothes, through the holes in the thin soles of my shoes, and we would smoke, would drink without limits, there would be music, always those hoarse voices, that moaning sax, his eye having settled on me, the warm shower loosening my muscles.