How To Be Alone

Sometimes I’m freaked out by,
like, the cosmos, you know?
Like for instance, this girl Becca
I hadn’t talked to in a year
or something, in something like
a full year texted me last night
(she was going to a rave in Chinatown
and thought of me, because I’m
specifically into that sort of thing,
sometimes, when I don’t feel
too squirrely about running into
a bleached-blonde party boi
sort of ex-boyfriend named Kip).
Anyway, she texted me and we did
that whole fake like, oh hey, you’re
so fucking cute & I really hope
we can hang soon & like,
order embroidered leather jackets
together & eat oreos! And I
forgot about it and like, went
about my night, bought some cigs
put on a baby blue baby tee and
went to Elvis Guest House for
this like, label party? that my
roommate wanted to go to and I just
did not have a better deal, so I go and
it was SO weird, this girl who
went to my high school three-thousand
miles away was working the door, and
I was like, “oh hey, did you go to such & such”
and she was like “oh yeah!” and
I pretended not to know her name
because she’s like three years younger
than me and I’m not going to
like admit that I’ve maybe seen
her instagram, you know? And
that was cute and freaky
and I basically like, maintained
my mystique I think, but then
we went into the bar and it was
like, brotown u.s.a., there was a guy
literally wearing like, colorful
knock-off Ray-Bans in the dark
and doing the dice throwing dance
alone in a corner, it was the most
embarrassing thing I’ve ever
seen in my life. And at this point
I’m like, pretty pissed off at
my roommate because I’m expecting
ugh, something, I came all the way
to goddamn Manhattan for what, to
watch these deflated balloon animals
suck down margs and grind on each
other’s Hamptons-fresh bodies? Like
come on. So I’m pouty and not seeing
one even halfway decent looking bro
to pretend to be interested in, and
I’m like, I need a drink!!, so I sidle
up to the bar and who do I see but
that girl Becca who texted me earlier!
And she was like holy shit, and
I was like, holy shit, and we
were both like, I love your hair, and
she said you’re the coolest person in
the bar and I said, I know. So we’re
talking and hanging and she tells me
about the tour she just came back
from with her NYT notable
band and I’m telling her about
aesthetic theory and she’s with
this girl who seriously looks exactly
like this other girl I know and I’m
honestly just like, oh my god,
the universe. Eventually she’s like,
let’s go, so we go and I don’t know
where my roommate is but I
literally say “yolo!” like you only
live once, to be funny, and we go
downtown to Wall Street which
is like, can I use the word majestic?
at night, like Disneyland if Disneyland
stopped pretending to not be
a flaming alter to corporate greed for a half second,
and we don’t go to the rave but we
do go to some rich guy’s roof
and there I am drinking vodka,
Becca went to water some thirsty acolytes,
and I’m alone on this sprawling
roof surrounded by hundreds of
exotic-seeming potted plants
(though what do I know) and
I’m just taking it all in, thinking
about how weird the cosmos is
and like, is there a god? standing
there on the edge of a skyscraper,

alone, azure in the blue light,
alone, swimming in fragments, again.

Sam Regal