Somewhere between HotClique’s first and second trip to the cold beer and wine store in two hours, I was unconscious but walking, talking, and best/worst of all dancing. All done in the revealing guise of a shirtless clubbing fooling. I hate that guy. He’s always trying to get down on the dance floor but he looks so lame. Well, I was that guy last night. I guess my shirt kept coming off because I was hot from the vicious and constant arm flailing and ass grabbing and wild moves I pulled off.
Somewhere in the heat and sweat of young dance lust, I threw my shirt at someone by the stairs, knocking a model Harmony Airlines airplane off a shelf, smashing and crashing to the stairs below. That’s kinda symbolic I guess, as harmony just went out of business. Hardee harrr eh. The engine broke off, and I got flustered and shit, and apologized to Todd, my friend’s father. Anyways, I went back today and fixed it, and he cooked more burgers for us.
Sometime during the evening, I got to talking to a mother about things of no consequence. Turns out I had walked her daughter home the other night. Her young daughter. And picture me, face fuzzy like an out of focus photo, wasted and slurring, smoking and picture me walking your daughter home. She was very nice though, and we talked about housing problems facing communities now, I think. She’s rich too.
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