carrasco drive (blood excerpt)

i was on a taxi back home
and me and my friend we were angry drunk
we spoke english
i barely remember the conversation
but i was so, so pissed
and frustrated
but i couldn’t cry in front of her
i was making fun of somebody’s girlfriend
and she was complaining about her job (surely)
and we both felt so alone

i dropped her off and the driver took me home
he parked at the door and said
“i heard you both talk,
are you americans?”
i said i wasn’t.
“i grew up in miami”, he said
and then he turned to english. he said
he had lived in new york
and had a strong al pacino-like accent.
he asked why i was angry.
i told him i was very lonely.
and very sad. i had mistakenly had my heart broken that night.

he said i looked like i was smart, and i was gonna figure it out.
i cried. he said it was okay. we are all lonely some times
and we move on.
he held my hand. he said i was gonna figure it out.

i got off the car and i felt a little bit better.
why did he throw himself into that?
sometimes i find that meaningful conversations take place
when i’m drunk
and with strangers.