To The Boy Who Drives An Hour Just For A Fuck

Bruce Dixon

He drives an hour just for a fuck. He drives 60km or so on the highway just for a few minutes with her. He sits through all that traffic on a Wednesday evening because there is nothing else to fix his midweek blues. He drives for so long without realizing how little he receives in return because she doesn’t really care for him. She doesn’t travel to such lengths for him. He’s nothing but a convenience for her whereas she is a need for him.

It’s a little unjust it seems. There’s no even give and take. He endures all of these factors for a taste of her presence. I wonder what his angle must be. Is his life so burdensome only she can be his escape? Are his vicinities that lacking in prospective and comparable alternatives? Or is she truly that enticing? Is she really worth all of these efforts? Is she a particular kind that is so unattainable that when you have a mere taste, you hold on no matter the price? Or does she have no price? Are the lengths he would go for her, limitless? And does she even know this?

She may know or she may not, but she chooses to act with negligence. I guess it’s justified. She owes him nothing, promised him nothing for they are both rational adults apt to make their own decisions. And this decision is his own as well, this choice to bear so much for a girl that reciprocates so little. Maybe he’s invested more than he realizes, maybe his analysis is inherently biased by emotion. Maybe he’s clouded his judgment by some fixation of her that he’s unable to perceive of how little she sees in him. Or maybe he’s made another choice, a choice to ignore the reality of their affairs. In the back of his mind, he must know objectively how unequal and unfair their exchange is. Yet knowledge often has little merit in warranting reciprocal and sensible action and for him it’s no different. He drives an hour just to fuck a girl who simply gives no fucks for him. TC mark

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