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I went out last night, to a bar that was once familiar, by myself, for the first time in many months. I'd been there more recently with Marcio, or a few times with friends, but not alone, alone, and last night it felt different. The place reeked of memories. I remembered that first time I'd gone on a Monday night, with my friend David who'd been visiting from Dallas, how wasted he'd gotten, and how pleased with myself I'd been for looking after him and not seizing the opportunity to take advantage of him when I clearly could have. I remembered night after night of trips to the same bar, an endless stream of conversations with people whose names I might not remember, and I remembered standing in the upstairs with Marcio, admiring the trippy artwork, with our margaritas, laughing, kissing. Last night I felt like a stranger, awkward, my limbs too long, my feet too big, clumsy. I walked there as I had done so many times before and realized I didn't want to go, didn't want to go, found myself so disappointed that it had come to this, but still harboring some notion that I would have fun somehow, I would loosen up after a beer or two, and somehow I might achieve a state of forget.

I discovered something last night. People will try to take advantage of you if you appear weak, or if you appear strong, and if you somehow manage both, you become a massive target. People in bars don't care about you, don't care to understand the nuances of you. They will use whatever power you allow them to get what they want. The more you give them, the more they will take.

I know I'll go back. And back, and back, until I've become one of them again. I'm disappointed that it will come to this.