For 2010, A Stream of Consciousness Letter by R and K

Dear Vinny,

Why do you always hurt me this way?

I mean, I know I stood you up that day.

But hey.

La Plaza Mall just isn't a date.

I don't care what you say.

Auntie Anne's pretzels aren't dinner.

Casa de Cambios isn't a hang-out spot.

You asked, "Why not?"

Aren't places of cultural monetary exchange a turn-on for you?

"No!" I said. "No."

That's because when I was little, my parents bought me for money they had exchanged at one.

You thought I was white. Well, I'm not.

I'm not.

Okay?

It's not like SHE gave you a good time at Whataburger, bellies full of A-1 Thick and Hearty's.

They are not good for your heart. Neither are you, Vinny.

"I'll take you places," you said.

I expected the moon. Not Donna's Corn Maze.

I spent hours in that maze, and later saw my slam poet ex-crush working at P.F. Chang's.

That did not make me feel good.

YOU don't make me feel good, Vinny.

You're like a sickness. A sinus problem that Zycam can't burn out.

A woman lost her olfactory sense with Zycam once.

I wish I lost my heart senses.

Shut up, Vinny!

I can hear you now.

Laughing. I always hated that laugh.

Sorry I stared at my vaccuum when you were telling me you loved me.

You vaccuumed my heart, and now only my RLS will take me places. Literally.

They can't rest.

That skirt you bought me was the wrong size.

And it didn't flatter my thighs.

Why do you tell me these lies?

I hope to never find you on my duplex doorstep, Vinny.