Brentt Harshman

"The truth is, I’ve never been in love. Sure, I’ve kissed a lot of women. I’ve written songs about love, or the idea of love, but I’ve never truly felt that undying, unconditional feeling often attributed to love. I’ve never ran twenty miles in the pouring rain to a lover’s house to say I’m sorry. I’ve never grabbed the back of a girl’s head with both hands and pressed my forehead against her forehead and just stared into her eyes. No, I’ve only shoved my tongue down her throat. Across her belly. I’ve only ever been in lust. I’ve used my words and my ability to simulate the idea of love to garner the affection of bra and panty wearers across America. Love is lust is love is lust. It’s the most primitive and most ancient and most instinct based emotion known to humankind. I’ve been with an ever-growing number of women and, yet, this waitress whom I didn’t even get a date with plagues my mind. This woman who eluded my charm and my wit and my smile—I’m not even thinking about her breasts or her legs, I’m thinking about the way she spoke. I’m thinking about the way her “p’s” punched and her every sigh reverberated in my ears. Keith is probably back in the hotel room snorting a line with California Blonde, caressing her thigh with his rough, calloused hands."