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bio: Peter McDonough doesn't have the patience to write much more than one sentence at a time. He makes pizza by day, is in grad school by nightand lives near Boston.
It feels a lot better than I thought to bound down those stairs two at a time and burst into the cold night air but then it hits me in the face like a sock full of nickels as if the air, the cold, the night is telling me to get the hell back inside and rethink what I did but I won't because I'm an adult old enough to make my own decisions--and do whatever I feel is right regardless of what people think or say besides what's done is done so I hurry down the steps and onto the sidewalk and I look at my watch knowing that it's well after three and I'll never get a cab so I guess I'm walking home, and maybe I should have thought twice before saying what I said "I never loved you"-- and here I am, alone in the cold, and I think about loneliness "do me a favor and forget you ever met me"-- and wonder if she'll be okay because I said some pretty harsh things "all I ever wanted from you was sex"-- but I know I made the right decision and I'll have to face that no matter what happens next; if we never see each other again, if we become best friends, or if we get back together somewhere down the road which I doubt but you never know so I let the air smack me around a bit as I think about what will be a very long, lonely walk home and I sit on the thick stone steps of the building and see if the cold can help me think of what to say before I ring the bell.
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