Connective Cube

Payday. Or, Lissa’s birthday check clears. All Lissa wants to do is walk into Gourmet Garage and buy a blueberry pie and tiramisu with pistachio ice cream and melt chili and mint infused chocolate on the side. She can binge watch The Sopranos on her roommates cable. Her roommate mentioned something about heading Upstate this weekend, and Lissa knows it will be one of her few opportunities to make a mess in the kitchen and not clean it up right away.

Last time that happened, Lissa woke up with five second long farts and a churling stomach that contributed to the rand and almost salty sent emanating out of her orifice. Her roommate also came home early. Lissa heard her sigh loudly and storm into the bathroom. Lissa quickly put on her mostly brown streaked terrycloth robe and walked as lightly as possible to the kitchen. They weren’t her dishes. She didn’t have dishes before she sublet her room.

The memory of that stomachache lead her to open her flip phone and search for someone, anyone, to grab a drink with tonight that wouldn’t involve talking to a bunch of people she doesn’t know.

Lissa knew her roommate would be away all weekend. Too bad she couldn’t just call someone, anyone up and invite them to blow her on the sofa.

Lissa knows Kara is at a literary event where people read things and then talk about things she hasn’t read, and Kacey is probably pre-gaming it before seeing one of the bands she promotes perform. Sometimes Kacey likes company, but tonight was apparently a sold out show with one of the bigger bands she works with. Even Lissa knows that she is far from the ideal arm best friend candy to have when some band flies in from Denmark and wants to be surrounded by cute perky girls who talk about current bands that sound like a poppier and digitized version of Yes.

Three texts come in a row.

David – Aw, it has been too long! Working tonight, but brunch soon?
Jaime – I feel illlllll. Sore throat. I wouldn’t come near me if I were you.
Cassie – Do you want to go to dinner tomorrow? I am exhausted and about to pass out.

Lissa sighs, not particularly wanting to travel to Jackson Heights to watch television with Marah, who ended up crying and viciously ranting about a co-worker who stole her project. She doesn’t want to listen all that much tonight.

At least the check could go towards new felt point pens and brushes. She walks down Broadway towards Pearl Art Supply and picks up a new 6B and a tube of cardamom blue paint as well as some linseed oil and a small canvas.