Dear Saloon Jesse, I left my steady on the stool. Mind if Pabst Blue and I chat with you? What? We just met and you’re inviting me to your therapists’ yacht in Sausalito? Sure, what time? You might know this, Jesse, but you look a little or a lot like David Bowie in Labyrinth, you ought to get some sparkles to go with your getup. I think. My boyfriend’s at the bar getting another round from the bartender. Did you know he’s a fully-functioning heroine addict? Not my boyfriend, the bartender. What’s your business anyhow? Sorry I’m shouting, it’s a wild night and yes, I come here often. You should really check on that cougar in the corner, she could use a dance like you. Huh? No, I didn’t get your social…your social? Like social security? My mom always told me never to give that out, Jesse. I know you look trustworthy and famous and all, but I can’t do that baby. What? What’s thi—a BUSINESS CARD! Jesse, you have your own business cards! And they look cryptic as hell! Right on. I see you’ve written your number on the back with a sparkly gold gel pen, a nice personal touch. What kind of business did you say you were in? Magic?
approximatelyes.com 