Vignette City 44.

*** ‘Vignette City’ is an ongoing project of daily writing and urban photography ***

So the technology is pretty easy.

Instead of sending your lover an email, you send the email and it goes to somebody else. That somebody else knows where your lover lives and works and drinks and hangs out, because you've told them. That somebody shows up where your lover is and delivers the email, out loud.

“Hey bitch!” the guy shouted at my ex-girlfriend in the middle of her hot yoga class, “Why you gotta be such a slut?”

I sent that when I was drunk.

But to be fair, I was drunk because she fucked a luggage handler at the airport. He handles luggage at the airport, but she also fucked him there, on the way to a yoga instructor’s retreat.

Later, after I bailed him out, the “Hey bitch” guy told me that he totally recognized my ex. “Oh yeah,” he said, “I have busted her a bunch. I would remember her ass anywhere. I have like a photographic memory for asses.”

I called her and she did not answer. I texted her and said: Have you been cheating on me?

And she texted back, like the fucking lunatic she is:

We were never dating.

I thought we were friends.

You have really made me sad.

Just leave me alone please.

Please.

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