THANKSGIVING WINE

After work, down the town to run-down up-scale converted warehouse. She’s hosting traditional ex’s-only post-Gratitude dinner of sorts. I bring wine, a more than decent white, by St Micheal, but whites aren’t my thing. She insists on drinking from the plastic cups she’s provided for her market trash enclave. No other players have shown and after another long call to the cops, screaming rants to which I am no longer privy, subtle insults and the bright joyous eyes of my sweet child dancing with cap gun and playdoh. I take a long tired cab home.