Last night Becky and I were leaving the Good Luck bar (a bar full of chinoiserie that I've always hated until last night when I realised that this guy I know from school works there, so now it feels tacky in a friendly kind of way). Our self-described Elijah Wood look-alike friend was having a birthday party and the evening involved a lot of horsing around and silliness. None of the silliness could have prepared us for what we met upon stepping out onto the sidewalk, however.
We're walking up the street when this guy walks out from the parking lot with straggley hair and a blue overcoat (hipster? homeless? a little hard to tell) and asks us, with the exact tonal intonation that Cher from Clueless would use to find out if you know where her super-cute plaid mini is, "Um, do you guys have a crack pipe?" He may have even cocked his head to the side and wrinkled his nose up.
It was so cute, and so fucked up. He was so sweet about it that I almost did a little pocket patting, just to make him think that I would totally, totally give him my crack pipe if I had it on me, but shit, I didn't and sorry 'bout that. Then, as we walked towards Becky's car, my drunkeness took over and I laughed hysterically.
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1 comment:
I keep trying to comment, but your blog keeps rejecting me.
-Doretta
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