this trip is a last-ditch effort to kill whatever is ailing me. this bug is obviously hiding in a cranny of my body that intimidates theraflu. amber boch is fearless. chuck opts to right himself with something shorter.
the faux fanta and a stranger's timely pick of "nasty boys" on the juke box turned our choice table into a small party. i am always amazed when i hear a song like "nasty boys" and realize that i still know not only every single lyric, but every nuance of the song. and then i get an image of a gap-toothed freckle faced weakling clutching a hairbrush and performing LIVE! IN CONCERT! in the pista family bathroom mirror. i'm glad no one ever told 12 year old me that i'd never be a more than a winner in the semifinals of a karoake competition at supposidely haunted bar that would eventually burn down.
we receive many guests at our table, including qt who is putting in a full workshift at this venue. he is still able to socialize with ease. he is drinking hipster beer.
eventually jcrew stops by under strict guidelines that she will not have fun if "fun" means ditching the escalade on michigan street over night. how cute is her new coat, though? i believe it was a wool barrier that protected her from the horror of this bar.
as for me, i like to contribute to this filthy element.
chuck is searching for the perfect self portrait, but struggles to get it exactly to his liking.
judging from today's glance through my photos, he was also unable to get the perfect shot of my cleavage.
at the end of the night, i'm tapping into the bartender's wealth of cab driver's phone numbers. he's rattling off digits, and each of them tells me it will be upward of 20 minutes.
"i can drive you home," a man says, identifying himself as a bouncer with a heart of gold who just wants to see people get home safely. he reiterates that he just likes to be kind. likes to see people get home.
seems like a waste to drive us, since we'd have not driven anyway. but we accept, regardless. it doesn't occur to me until later that it is a bad idea to get rides with strangers. at least twice on the way home, i forget that i'm not in a cab.
we eat deluxe mac and cheese and i download janet jackson's control from itunes. neither of us remembers to turn on the porta jungle, and when i wake, my head feels like it is filled with cement. i actually weep in pain.