There’s a difference between Value and Price
Her: Do you like girls, Logan?
Me: (laughing) Why do you care?
Thursday, soak in HEI’s eyes over coffee and homemade yoghurt; again on Sunday over yellow rice and black beans.
Friday, I’m supposed to meet with the girl from last week but was stuck up round Spring Valley so we reschedule for the following week. On the way down to Hoboken, a client slips her number into my shirt pocket. I don’t keep it. There aren’t enough hours in a day.
3AM, Saturday morning, I’m sitting on a Gramercy stoop with a girlie who’s, quite literally, crying on my shoulder.
You know the difference between value and price? Price is whatever you say something is; the price of a glass of Cruzan Single Barrel Aged Rum is about $14 in the big city just because that’s what the pretty bartender says. Sometimes, if I smile just right at her, it’s $11. That’s just the price.
The value of a glass of Cruzan Single Barrel Aged Rum after a long summer day is…well, a lot more than $14. I tell the girl on the stoop to stop crying cause she’s confusing the two; someday, someone’ll see all she’s worth. Then I tell her about my two rules, say goodnight and take the long walk home.
3AM, Sunday, see Heartgirl in the sweltering heat of NYC and I also tell her about my two rules over a candlelit table. She looks at me, takes my face in her hands and pulls me into her green eyes.
Her: (whispering sweetly) Oh Logan…you’re so…dumb.
That sounds about right. We both laugh. I hail her a cab on 2nd Avenue and she’s gone in two lights.
I check my phone, delete a few things and take the long walk home again. There aren’t enough hours in a day.
Location: 20:00 yest, cooling in the cellar
Music: Strolling the street we’re strangely complete
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