Matadors kill bulls. Gigantic, cluessless animals.
I'm not cynical.
I'm pretty optimistic. Even in the face of destruction. (It's the liquor.)
But my "con man" light just came on. (It's next to the brake light.) I've never been vulnerable. "The King" left me feeling vulnerable. Heart cracked open.
Something isn't right. The Argentinian (Matador) is trying too hard. He made an appointment with his sports doctor to look at my leg. (It went numb. I stumble when I walk.) Or is he just being "the man"?
He calls me "baby".
He talks funny.
He's too handsome.
His Mercedes is too old. I know, that's a terrible thing to say. One of the buttons on his shirt was cracked. He thinks because I live in Corona Del Mar that I'm rich.
I'll tell him I'm a pauper.
Then we'll find out.