faux rockstar

I had ordered my gin & ginger double blissfully unawares of the throng of badly dressed hipster-lites sipping their import beers.
I wandered off to where my own friends stood, tossing darts and catching up on weekly gossip.
“Hey there.”
I turned and there stood Faux Rock-star in all his ‘one hit wonder’ glory.
“Hello.” I replied. A foolish move.

This was followed by:
Two offers of sex
Three offers of tequila
and an assortment of questions.
>>>> “Have you ever dated a white guy before?”
>>>> “Can you name all the ethnicities of your exs’?”
>>>> “Do you want to come back to my place?”

“Your friends are waiting for you.” I hissed.
“Well they can fucking wait all they want. I have to finish my drink and take a piss.” He held his bottle up in salute. “And besides I have a crush on you.”

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July 6, 2007. memory, men.

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