Friday, March 20, 2009
Friday Night?
I get a mass text asking me what I'm doing tonight, put on my boots and jacket and head out. No one else has started smoking, so I ash, hug a warm 'hello' and step inside the bar. I can already smell the pineapple. It's loud and I'm standing but the company's good and we stay too long. I'm drinking Vodka. Now everyone is smoking. The cab back to Manhattan makes me sleepy, I hear someone whisper 'Tim's done' but it's not true, and soon I'll be ready to dance. More of the cloying, sharp sweetness of pineapple, a low ceiling and several drunk, handsome Jewish men. This is (sweet) paradise.
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I'm digging the style of this so far.
ReplyDeleteYou stand at the bar with your girls. They’re talking about a concert and sex and the times you have to take a cab to work because, well, how late can you really be on a Tuesday. You look around. Mostly French cut striped button downs and water resistant Dockers. You catch a man with nice pants looking; you hoist your chest four more inches to the ceiling and bring the belly button in.
ReplyDeleteA group walks in - two, maybe three years younger. Private school turd, followed by shorter turd, followed by two stick girls, followed by boots and sailor shirt. You hear the short turd say, “Eh Timo wanna dance tonight?” in a mongrel accent, Swedish Eurasian.
Boots and a sailor shirt hangs back. You sip your pineapple drink. He isn’t built like you, but he’s tall and broad shouldered. You look at him and wonder why he hangs back, what he’s looking for. And you hope: perhaps he’s different, perhaps he’s got the . . . Phat Tendencies.