Page 40 of You Had Me at Hockey

Connor has a big brown beard and mustache, neat brown hair, and a strong handshake. Eli’s not as tall, slender, wearing a fedora, black-rimmed glasses, and a scarf.

“We’ve heard about your podcast,” Eli says to me. “Sara thinks it’s going to be a big hit with her fans.”

“When will it air?” Connor asks.

“Thursday next week,” Sara says. “I can’t wait!”

We make some small talk, and then Eli asks where we’re off to.

“We’re going to get dessert,” Sara says. “How about you guys?”

“We’re going to a poetry reading.” Connor raises his hands. “You should come with! It’s going to be fab.”

I blink. A poetry reading.

I glance at Sara.

“That sounds fun!” She turns to me. “We can grab dessert after.”

Here we go again. I hate having my plans disrupted. But dammit, it’s not the end of the world. I need to chill. So I smile and say, “Sure!”

“It starts at seven-thirty,” Sunny says. “We need to get moving.”

We hang out while they take care of their bar tab and then all six of us leave the restaurant. Eli and Connor link arms and lead the way to the café only a couple of blocks away on Second Avenue—Original Rose Poetry and Café.

Wow.

We have to pay a cover fee, which Sara insists on paying for me since she dragged us here. I can smell the marijuana wafting from the café as we stand and wait to get in. Holy shit, we’re going to be higher than a giraffe’s ass just from sitting in there. Actually, maybe that’s a good thing, since I’m not exactly into poetry.

The place is dark and tiny. We’re shown to a table near the low stage where a microphone sits.

The bar menu consists of a few odd cocktails (Gay-Dar Ade, wow) and a bunch of craft beers. Sara orders a Pig’s Ass Porter. “I’ll have the same,” I mumble.

I shift in my wooden chair to survey the room. Behind the stage, the wall is covered with ornate panels, with columns on either side and a sign above that says Original Rose. Everyone here seems to know one another as Eli and Connor are talking to the people at the table next to us and Kamal and Sunny stopped on the way to the table to speak to someone else.

“This is so cool!” Sara looks around too. “I’ve never been here. I might have to come back and do a video.”

“Er, yeah.” I look for the waitress, hoping she’s bringing that beer.

Soon, the lights dim more, and a spotlight hits the stage. A man runs up and grabs the mic. “Good evening, everyone! Welcome to Original Rose. We have a great lineup tonight. You’re going to love hearing Gabor Nagy.” He lists off a few other names that mean nothing to me, to vigorous applause. “Enjoy!”

The first poet comes up to the stage and stands in front of the mike. He’s wearing black pants, a white shirt, suspenders, and a bow tie. The room falls silent.

The hush lengthens. I shift in my chair again.

“Nature’s Semen,” the man begins.

Jesus Christ. I slide my eyes sideways to look at Sara and she does the same. She makes an “Eeek” face, then we turn back to the poet.

“Water spills from my eyes

Like raindrops streaking down the window.

How odd it is that sadness brings out aqua

To run down our cheeks.

Alone in this world, humans cry

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