“So why don’t you try it that way?”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s quite come to that, yet.”
“Well it’s better than being lonely..?”
“I’m not lonely.”
“But you just said you were lonely.”
“I said I was ‘still on my lonesome’, I never said I was lonely.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Well, one is being alone and feeling shit because of it, and the other, I guess is just being alone.”
“Right.”
“Yeah, you see, unlike how you seem to operate, I don’t actually need a significant other in my life to feel complete … I am quite comfortable with my own company.”
“What, you mean living inside your own head like a weirdo..?”
“I think you’d be surprised, the décor up there is rather plush…”
“What?”
“I’m saying the inside of my head, providing I stay clear of conflict, shit-storms, heated arguments and such, is a surprisingly favourable environment to be.”
“Right … Well whatever it is, it doesn’t have to be like that.”
“Like what? I just told you I was fine.”
“You’re not fine, you’ve given up.”
“I haven’t given up.”
“Well when was the last time you even asked a girl out?”
“Honestly? About an hour and a half ago.”
“What? You’re not serious..?”
“Of course I am … As I said I’ve just been in town, and it’s not as if making female contact is a big thing for me anymore … I am a grownup now, after all.”
“So what’s the problem then?”
“Ah, aha … What do you mean?”
“Well you said you’re still alone, but you seem to be doing alright with girls, so..?”
“Hah, yeah, ‘so’ is about right…”
“What are you on about?”
“Well in this modern world, in this age of consent -”
“Oh you haven’t..?”
“Haven’t what?”
“Oh my God have you been trying to chat up minors?”
“No, shit, no … I’m saying ‘in this age, where consent is important’ … No more can a caveman simply decide a woman is his before projecting a string of guttural tones, throwing her over his shoulder then taking her back to his grotto in the sun…”
“Are you sure about that? That’s what most guys do with me…”
“Yeah, much as I’m sure I’d like to, I have never actually encountered a woman with such a liberal mindset as yourself on my travels…”
“So what are the girls like, you speak to?”
“In a word, marvellous.”
“Even though they don’t go out with you..?”
“Sure, but I’m playing the long game.”
“With women you’ve never met before and are never likely to meet again..?”
“Yes.”
“How’s that ‘the long game’?”
“I dunno, I suppose, because it’s set to take a very long time.”
“Oh God … So, when was the last time you actually took a girl out, like, you know, when you last went on a date?”
“Hmm, tough one … In fact I don’t know if I have ever been on a ‘date’ per se…”
“Come on..?”
“No, sorry, fair call, I did go out with you that time a few years back.”
“What, you mean that time my mum took us to Robbies?”
“Oh fair enough, given she paid, guess that was more a date with your mum than it was with you…”
“Oh, don’t be disgusting … You must have gone out with other girls though – yes, like that time with me and Mum, but romantically..?”
“Never the mother/daughter combo like that, no.”
“Oh, don’t be crude – I mean a proper date..?”
“Alright, short answer, no.”
“What does ‘no’ mean?”
“It means, regarding your beloved ‘proper dates’, I have had none.”
“What? What about the girls you talk to?”
“Most of them are wonderful, but I feel as though we’ve already been here – believe the first time around you used the term ‘speak’ rather than ‘talk’ to, and I called them ‘marvellous’ instead of ‘wonderful’.
“Yeah, alright then smart guy, what happens to those wonderfully marvellous prospects when put under the scrutiny of your enigmatic charms?”
“Honestly dude, my ‘charms’ are a terrible lot less effective than you seem to believe they ought to be.”
“What – I don’t get it..?”
“What do you not get? Talking to you, the pretty chick I’ve known all my life and with whom I have never had relations, I’m great – shit man, a third party observer might even consider me a catch…”
“If I didn’t know you all my life I’d consider you a catch.”
“…Yet you do know me and you have known me which is why you understand that any ‘catchiness’ you might perceive is all front because realistically I am a timid little piss-ant.”
“No, I think it’s the other way … Realistically you are fine, so maybe it’s talking to girls you don’t already know where you are the nervous piss-ant..?”
“Yeah, of course, I mean that makes me nervous, sure, but it’s more of an excited nervous – as opposed to a terrified nervous I mean.”
“That’s good then … Isn’t it?”
“Not so much … Nerves are nerves and shaky bodies aside, nerves aren’t suave … Girls typically prefer suave to nerves…”
“Mm, girls do.”
“…Which illustrates my point..?”
“Sorry, you had a point..?”
“Unconventional of me I realise, but yes, in fact I was briefly explaining my being romantically bereft…”
“Oh yeah, and how was that going?”
“It started slow then it picked up for a bit, which was about the time your attention span spanned to the limit of its attention.”
“Yeah, it’ll do that.”
“The booze probably doesn’t help..?”
“Yeah, probably not, but whaddayagonnado?”
“Continue venting to this increasingly obtuse wall sitting before me … The point, I think, was that women can smell diffidence -”
“Yeah and it fucking stinks, but you don’t stink – in that regard I mean…”
“- As I was saying, they seem to be able to sense – even when it’s not manifested – I swear they can sense my nervousness … Also uncertainty, doubt, lack of self belief, esteem, confidence…”
“Hang on, no, I mean how can that be when, I mean, you’ve got those things like, self confidence and that … How could they possibly sense that you don’t?”
“Do you recall earlier when I said that my perceived ‘catchiness’ was all a front because ‘realistically’ I’m a timid little piss-ant?”
“Yeah, so..?”
“So I’m going to forgive your lapse on account of the years, also the distance, that has come between us yet I do feel it my duty to remind you, deep down, genuinely, innately, I am a timid little piss-ant.”
“Then why are you confident enough to go out and chat up strange girls?”
“As I said, I put on that charade of a façade of confidence which, evidently, is about as threadbare as your memory … Also, in those girls’ defence, they’re not that strange – some of them are terribly normal, dull and/or rather dreary.”
“Alright, I’ll go with that … Why, then … Why have you become such an innately diffident piss-ant?”
“It was innately ‘timid’, not diffident, and inherently, you don’t ‘become’ innately timid, you ‘are’ innately timid … By definition, you are born innately timid.”
“Oh, God, don’t do that … Why are you such a fucking annoying piss-ant, then?”
“Yes, that’s a good question … I suppose, put it down to rejection – too much rejection coupled with too few successes.”
“But you’re successful..?”
“Yeah? In what?”
“Well … OK, you’re pretty smart, for one.”
“For two, erudition doesn’t measure in success.”
“Well you’re good with words, so turn that around to make it sound successful.”
“Yes … In life’s challenge to know good England and to speak in sentences proper and to not use run-on sentences and to make sure sentences aren’t guilty of word overuse in sentences, shit man, I am a rollicking success.”
“Awesome … So who rejects you?”
“Ah, shit … Anyone … Everyone … You-for-one…”
“What? When did I reject you?”
“Once when I was sixteen, then again when I was eighteen, and once more when I was nineteen, then I either took the hint, or you lost appeal…”
“Oh, yeah, but we were just kids then..?”
“How does that make a difference? Shit I’m not sore about it, I was just answering your question so you know, you can see how someone might go about rejecting me.”
“Yeah but I mean from nineteen ‘til now you must have moved on..?”
“’Moved on’? Yes, of course I’ve moved on, like I said, that shit’s nothing, it was an example … That said, my ratio has not improved…”
“Ratio..?”
“Success to rejection ratio.”
“Oh my God, why are you even counting them?”
“I’m not counting them – I just know because it won’t be difficult to detect the anomaly when a success story appears amid the line of uninterrupted failure.”
“What? Are you serious? No, you can’t be … What about that last girl I saw you with?”
“Last time I saw you, over three years ago..? Yup, by the ratio that stood at that time, there ought to be another coming on in a month or two.”
“What?”
“Law of averages … Three-and-a-half years is about it.”
“God, sounds like you’re being too picky.”
“In fact I am the quintessential opposite of picky – I’m easy as they come … They just never seem to come – unless of course I have a hand in making them come, then they come freely…”
“Oh, no, don’t be crude.”
“Right, then three-and-a-half is about right.”
“That’s not right…”
Article by Tim Walker
Edited by Nessa Weak
Photography by Thirby Mora