Even though I wasn't drunk, I am clearly forgetting details as though I were. I refer to the bar now as the bar with the five dollar cover charge, but the name truly escapes me. Hand to whatever holy book you place your faith in.
Couldn't tell you what time we got in, only that I went to sleep around three A.M. and got up around 7 A.M.
Can't tell you specifics about the people. There was one brunette, about five-three, beautiful in a non-whorish way, dressed demurely in an ankle length blue polka-dotted dress and a black half-shirt over the dress. She was probably the biggest whore in the place. The first guy that talked to her, she didn't even feign interest. Then she asked if he wanted to buy her a drink. This he did, a shot in a plastic cup. She gulped it and walked away from him without another word. The whole night, she would keep attracting guys (both with and without her effort), get drinks, and leave. Sometimes, the worst thing (for everyone else) is to know you are beautiful.
Multiple blondes over six feet tall populated the bar, which delighted J.T. to no end, as he never gets to see one blonde over six feet, much less several. On multiple occasions, he would slap my chest to get my attentino. However, due to his mild-to-moderate inebriation, plus my lack of height, his slaps caught my diaphragm, leaving me breathless.
J.T.'s concern is whether I, as a sober man watching drunkards, am having any fun. He's mentioned this a couple of times now. I am having fun, but I'm just wistful for several reasons, one of which being my inability to drink with them. Coke just doesn't get the job done. Cocaine, however, might.
In J.T.'s analysis, since I don't drink, don't smoke, and don't do drugs, I need to find a woman. I agree with him to a certain point; picking up women in bars is not my thing. For one thing, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, and still look sixteen. That puts me off. I'm also somewhat unable to be myself, due to the loud music and needing to scream to be heard. I am also not as loud as i used to be, making it that much more difficult. I'm not sure how to tell him all this, so he reinterprets my reticence and asks if I'm going, quickly adding he has several gay friends.
(Side note: Isn't saying, "I have X friends," where X is a minority group, one of the worst things you can say? It isn't an excuse to crack wise on some group, it doesn't get you off the hook. Often, it makes people wonder why you felt the need to say it in the first place. We need to ban this from the lexicon.)
It's something of a shame I don't even talk to these women, as they all have spent serious time and effort cultivating their look to maximize their attractiveness. I don't know anything about their personalities, but hey, if they care enough to look their very best, that should be good enough, right?
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I think it would be difficult to hang out with drunkards while staying sober. But it sounds like you've had a lot of experience doing so, even though it might not always be the most fun.
Whore-girls like the one you described make me sick.
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