Yellow Fever
Scene: Black Sheep Pub aka the irish bar with some of the best mexican food in the slope.
Time: Way too nigh to 4am.
Alcohol consumption level: 97th percentile.
Me: Do you have yellow fever?
Him: Wha- what did you just say?
Me: I said, do you have yellow fever? Are you gonna sleep with her? - pointing SO HARD with my drunk finger at the nicest looking japanese girl in the world.
Him: No, why would you, what the - that's so rude! Why would you say something like that?
Me: I like to stereotype. It's much easier than giving people a fair shot.
Later
Cherry Tree Last Call
Alcohol consumption level: 92nd percentile
time: bars are *closed*
Me: What's that?
Him: My notebook. I'm a writer. Do you want to write something in here? You can't ever see it again after you write it. After you write it down, it's all mine.
Me: brain empty, brain empty, brain empty. don't think, can't think, just write. don't just say anything. say something this fool won't forget.
drug dealer comrade: ooooh, j. is letting her write in his notebook. he must like her.
Me: Nah, he's just a masochist. the first thing i said to him was an insult.
drug dealer comrade: well, you ought to make it up to him.
Making it up to Him
Me: I'm not sleeping with you. I'm not so good at this as i used to be. I'm much better at just making out.
Him: I'm not letting you sleep with me; you need a friend more than anything else.
Talking all night, talking all next day till it's 3pm and our eyes are heavy and our stomachs are done remembering how to rumble and even our hangovers seem to have forgotten about us. Knowing this is good.
Me: Knowing he will run.
Him: Sitting miles away on the stoop next to me, standing up often to pace anxiously with his cigarette.
Hugging good-bye, feeling time stop for just a moment.
Me: Let's listen to tunes sometime...
Him: Definitely...you're cool, fun, intelligent and seem to have your heart in the right place...so say i.
---------
I hate knowing the truth. But the lie feels nice right now, so i'm gonna keep believing it for a little while longer.
Time: Way too nigh to 4am.
Alcohol consumption level: 97th percentile.
Me: Do you have yellow fever?
Him: Wha- what did you just say?
Me: I said, do you have yellow fever? Are you gonna sleep with her? - pointing SO HARD with my drunk finger at the nicest looking japanese girl in the world.
Him: No, why would you, what the - that's so rude! Why would you say something like that?
Me: I like to stereotype. It's much easier than giving people a fair shot.
Later
Cherry Tree Last Call
Alcohol consumption level: 92nd percentile
time: bars are *closed*
Me: What's that?
Him: My notebook. I'm a writer. Do you want to write something in here? You can't ever see it again after you write it. After you write it down, it's all mine.
Me: brain empty, brain empty, brain empty. don't think, can't think, just write. don't just say anything. say something this fool won't forget.
drug dealer comrade: ooooh, j. is letting her write in his notebook. he must like her.
Me: Nah, he's just a masochist. the first thing i said to him was an insult.
drug dealer comrade: well, you ought to make it up to him.
Making it up to Him
Me: I'm not sleeping with you. I'm not so good at this as i used to be. I'm much better at just making out.
Him: I'm not letting you sleep with me; you need a friend more than anything else.
Talking all night, talking all next day till it's 3pm and our eyes are heavy and our stomachs are done remembering how to rumble and even our hangovers seem to have forgotten about us. Knowing this is good.
Me: Knowing he will run.
Him: Sitting miles away on the stoop next to me, standing up often to pace anxiously with his cigarette.
Hugging good-bye, feeling time stop for just a moment.
Me: Let's listen to tunes sometime...
Him: Definitely...you're cool, fun, intelligent and seem to have your heart in the right place...so say i.
---------
I hate knowing the truth. But the lie feels nice right now, so i'm gonna keep believing it for a little while longer.