#but also @ brooklyn museum girl what the fuck is you doin

[somecunttookmyurl]

alright i have permission to derail this so im derailing it

this figure is fucking. wild. a sequence of events: me and @thatlittleegyptologist seeing this immediately: okay not the point but she is NOT egyptian. that woman eats olives. she does not drink chunky beer. she does not believe the sun is rolled around by a unit of a dung beetle. she is GUH-REEK brooklyn museum: greek greekity greek btw she's in the egyptian collection us: ok why though. look i'll grant this does look like egyptian baking scenes but SHE isnt egyptian. and 5th century BCE is far too early for greek-egyptian shenanigans. something isnt right here @ikchen: do they just not have a separate collection for classical and this where it gets. more? fucked up you, i, and every other normal person would from a museum read "egyptian, classical, ancient near east" as three separate designations applied to the same object. egyptian. classical. ANE. which can absolutely be the case! things can be more than one thing

but no. that is, in fact, all one collection. that's not three links that's one link. all of classical and near eastern civ is contained within egypt. thutmose would be thrilled.

there is a minoan tentacle vase on display in the egyptian old kingdom room. there are greek coins and wreaths in an egyptian art exhibition

egyptian is always listed first. half the shit in it never saw egypt.

there is a link to ask them questions and im tempted to ask if they're aware that greece is not located within egypt

love this egyptian figurine of a woman baking bread in the brooklyn museum. she looks exactly like me while i'm waiting for my food to be done in the microwave. truly an eternal experience

[khrisjavier]

Sam, and the Whore.

PT. I

Saturday night, just out of work, what to do, what to do. These six-day work weeks are killing me. Meet me at the bar I can’t spend another weekend binging on Netflix. 

I can’t wait, these days have been ridiculous from start to finish. “Sam get the final prints here, Sam edit the articles there”, “…Oh Hey! Sam! We’re going to need you to wait until nine on Saturday to receive those fresh clips from out east for Sunday roundups!” I just want a drink and to think of anything besides work, and if this bitch doesn’t respond before I get in this taxi I will change my damn Netflix password.

“Sam?”

“Yes?”

“This is your Uber I am rounding the corner now.”

“Ah! Thank you see you at the curb.”

Still no response and my driver is about to turn past Kellogg’s on Grand.  I hope D is already there, three L.I.Ts down and too busy having a good time to answer.

“Right here Muhammed and thanks for the ride! Have a good night and get home safe.”

“You too Sam, Good night.”

I don’t see D through the window but the bar is fairly packed, I just need a drink, today has been the day of days. At least Phil is working the door tonight, good ol’ Phil.

“Hey Phil!”, I can’t help but smile at Phil and that big ass pirate beard he sports. It is definitely not Security Guard standard but honestly I feel it should be. Great mix of welcoming and affirmative somehow, or maybe that was just Phil.  

“Hey Sam! How you doin’ long time no see.”

“Yeah I have been working these six-day weeks the last month so it’s been tough to make it out to the Nest, how have you been? How’s Stella? Laurie doing better after poppin’ that thing out?”

“Stella is beautiful, thanks for asking. Babies are always so beautiful right out the oven, Sam give me a second?” Phil’s big arms unfold to open the door for some loud college crowd coming out en masse for a cigarette and now it’s a bit too loud outside for us to catch up and Phil knows that he will have to focus on bouncing and not storytelling so he welcomes me inside. I forgot to ask if D made it through already, and still no text. Well the bar it is and an old fashioned for these old bones. John’s not behind the bar but some tall and beautiful girl that hopefully doesn’t need an instruction manual is in his place.  

“You’re new, covering for John?” “Mhm, what can I get you?”

Honestly being a little closer I started to grow a bit of an odd attraction to this girl, as if she went from softly beautiful to strikingly gorgeous in ten steps, did the dark lighting in here really rob her of so much?

“Can I have an Old Fashioned to start? Open my tab thank you.” As she walks away with my credit card I still can’t put a finger on what makes her so beautiful. Her modest frame? Beautiful posture? She is far from a lusty vision which one would want behind the bar in a club, hanging halfway out of her dress from the front and back. She does seem though, like she belongs in a museum, a marble statue that escaped from Manhattan and became a Brooklyn bartender. I must admit above all those looks, she does make a damn fine drink.

“Excuse me what is your name?” I had to ask, especially after tasting her work.

“Diana…”

“Thanks Diana, you make a fucking great drink and you’re beautiful, really, really beautiful.”

She just smiled back and lowered her eyes shyly, winning herself an amazing tip with that modesty. Still, halfway through this drink and no response from this bitch, I can’t believe this. What can she be doing? Seeing that guy again? The one with the pretty hair? I never fail to respond to a text from her even when I’m with someone. I just go to the bathroom and make a quick “heyyyy I’ll be busy tonight” or “They’re almost asleep I’ll see you there in 40 minutes.” Though here I am, again, waiting for a damned text when I finally decide not to pussy out of a Saturday night out. I don’t want to be that person sitting at the bar alone all night, and I also don’t want to be the person texting outer circle friends at Ten on the weekend looking for plans. Am I going to have to call her and really be that person hounding down their friends? I need another drink, and now someone is taking up the empty seat next to me.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” I never really had a thing for blonds, not after my last… three.

“Want some company?”

“What makes you say that?” Honestly, what makes someone say that? Do I look lonely? Or is it just that obvious that I am neither waiting on someone or with someone currently?

“Well besides no one being here? I saw when you came in and noticed when you gave up looking around the bar and started staring at the waitress instead. Sorry if that sounds weird… just the truth.”

The truth, well that’s interesting, many people believe they know the truth but mostly they just don’t know they’re wrong. Maybe they’re telling the truth, maybe they’re as observant as I am behind those blue eyes.

“Good call, well I am alone but not exactly looking for company… though if you want to join me that’s fine with me.” I can outwit this kid in a conversation till they just go running back to their friends with god awful stories about me, and me to D, telling her all about ruining their life in her absence.

“Excuse me Diana, can I have another?” She was already winning my heart again by being so attentive and swift in her bartending, distracting me from... “Excuse me, what’s your name?”

“Mine? It’s Tracy, and yours?”

“Sam”, “Sam I am!”, am I drunk already? It has been a while since I could kick back curled around a glass, I really hope I am not making an ass of myself. At least Tracy laughed along with my nervous laughing.

“So Tracy, are you alone in this bar as well?” This bar is being overpopulated by beautiful people it really is hard to believe they’re all alone. “Actually my friend is bartending tonight and asked me if I wanted to tag along and keep them company.” He slips a look at Diana and she gives the same modest smile she gave me when I complimented her.

“So you and Diana, great choice I mean I would if I could, congratulations.” I definitely slurred some if not all of that.

“Oh, oh no, trust me I would too but we’re just friends, I’m just keeping her company since I have no plans for tonight.” I can’t tell if Tracy’s face is embarrassed or sad but I immediately knew I had to change the subject.

“Did you just get out of work?”

“For the most part I’m a little out of work as of this week, and Diana is feeding me drinks for free tonight, one of the many perks.”

“Ah, what did you work in?”

“Online work… Mostly streaming and editing, my PC just died though putting me into a little hiatus.”

“Oh… interesting”, I lied, it has blown up so much I’m not surprised and not impressed.

“How about yourself?”

“I’m a junior editor at The Hub. It has its perks but the hours really kill any fun I used to have before it.”

“Like?”

“Sex.”

I must be drunk from this second drink I just let that one out and now Tracy is struggling to make eye contact. Either roll with it Sam or keep it moving.

“So next time you see a priest tell him he’s in the wrong profession if he wants to get out the word!” I’m a horrible drunk and I think Tracy knows it. Though after an hour of bad puns back and forth between us I think I made up for it, and I think blond is affecting me again. I need a cigarette to clear my mind.

“Going out for a cigarette, be right back”

“Can I join?”

“I wouldn’t mind if you do, I wouldn’t mind if you don’t.” I feel light on my feet, obviously flirting but less obviously not having a care in the world either way. I could leave now and fall asleep happily alone, or with anyone, even Diana, hopefully Diana, that would be something.

“Hey Phil!” Those eyes were shut and his mouth was slightly parted and yawning through his beard.

“Oh hey Sam, still here at this time?”

“Yes, yes, need a coffee or something?”

“Shit if you wouldn’t mind asking Diana for a Redbull for me I’d appreciate it.”

I pass Phil my cigarette even though he doesn’t smoke, head back inside and right back out with the caffeinated poison of his choice.

“Thanks Sam” He passes me back the cigarette, it wasn’t even lit. Tracy was about a quarter of the way done with his cigarette, he couldn’t wait I don’t blame him. Luckily he decided to move to my usual spot on the wall downwind from Phil, far enough outside the bar’s spotlighted front to not be a nuisance but close enough to call for help if something happened, which has happened but thankfully has become less frequent with Phil here. Standing next to Tracy, lighting my cigarette with one leg propped on the wall behind me, I feel quite cool, quite comfortable with the fact that I came here alone. I wonder if D decided to stay in tonight, I wonder what stories she’ll bring me tomorrow, I wonder if she’ll even care to tell me the truth or just write it off till I find out from someone else. I’m being awfully quiet, thinking here to myself next to new company.

“Sorry if I have been quiet.” My cigarette was nearly done, his has been cast away.

“It’s okay, silence can be warm and welcoming sometimes.”

“It can be you’re right, you’ve been warm and welcoming tonight.”

“So have you.”

And all at once I don’t know which happened first, if I rolled in front of him or he in front of I but we were connected by the lips. My eyes closed I felt him on me and I on him. Fingers tracing each other’s backs as if we were looking for a way in, but in fact we were looking for a way to come closer, just then I remembered Phil and backed away.

“I’m sorry… that was, um, unplanned.” I felt all at once aware of how the scene looked and needed to escape it all.

“I’m going to uh… head home it was nice meeting you.” Running away from Tracy and back into the Nest I nudge past the rowdy college crowd which still hasn’t settled down and settled my tab with Diana. I hope I didn’t look as rough to Diana as I felt putting myself on exhibition on the street.

“Have a good night Phil, get home safe and send my love to the family!”

“You too Sam have a good night!”

I don’t know where Tracy is but I’m glad I didn’t have to explain myself, though honestly I don’t know what I would say or how I’d apologize. I don’t feel like apologizing though, I feel like taking him home with me, using what I just had a taste of and leaving him behind in time for Sunday brunch. Past the corner is just two blocks till home, even if I’m drunk and alone I should be able to make it home and to bed okay.

“Hey, Sam!”

Oh no, not…

“Sam, it’s Tracy wait up!”

Fucking seriously this is not good, how do I run, if I run does he follow? Do I want to run? I just have to turn and face him.

“Hey Tracy… Sorry about that. It’s been a while since I’ve drunkenly hooked up with someone outside a bar.” I can’t help but be honest. I’ve been fighting his blue eyes for too long and they have drained me of all my strength, either that or I’m too drunk to lie.

“It’s okay, I just didn’t want to have you leave on that note, it really was nice meeting you and spending the night together.”

“You too…”, at this point I know what I want and know how to get it, I just have to ask.

“...do you really want to stop spending the night together or would you like to keep me company at home?” I asked, and to my surprised he hesitated before saying yes.

Before I knew it we were through the threshold, clothes on the ground, again on top of each other without clear knowledge of who started on who, just lost in it all. I could feel him all over me, hands on my hips, pulling me closer as I try to grasp his entirety between my legs. His hands can’t stop wandering from my legs upwards and I can’t help wanting more.

“Choke me” I let my fantasies slip from my subconscious.

He hesitates again, so I guide his hands to my neck.

“Don’t worry just do it and kiss me”, I grab his neck and drag him close, hoping he would grab me with the same force. It was lacking until I said “harder”, then I couldn’t help but moan “right there.”

We both fell asleep, but I don’t remember when or if it was at the same time. Though I’m awake now and the sun in spilling in through my curtains. Tracy was face down in the mattress next to me, either I stole the pillow or he decided to let me have it instead of trying to share. All night he has seen my naked body but I just want to wrap myself up, as though he wouldn’t approve in the daylight. What was I thinking? Am I a whore now for bringing someone home the first night I meet them? I needed it, I know, but was this the best solution to my dry spell?

“Hey, good morning” He slid over and caught me covering myself.

“Did you really need to cover those girls up? I was hoping for a bit more of last night this morning.” Those blue eyes were squinting at me, but their effect on me was waning with my hangover.

“Yeah sorry, have some early plans today, need to head out.” I lied, of course, but I don’t want to turn a one night stand into anything more so quickly. I need time to think, I also need a big breakfast. “That’s okay I’ll get out of your hair, I don’t know if we traded numbers last night but I’ll leave mine on the table in case you want to meet up again.” Then I just realized we actually never became intimately connected past first names and started dressing faster. Tracy must’ve noticed my own haste to get dressed and rushed himself into his clothes from the night before. Finally, completely dressed we both looked at each other through fresh eyes, and give out a sigh. “I’ll just leave my number here”, he picks up a pen off of my night stand and begins writing his name followed by his number on a tissue.

“Thanks, maybe I’ll call you this week if I’m not swamped by work?”

“That’d be cool, I remember you mentioning how work was a real struggle recently for you...”

“mhm, well…” I take a few step forwards and he guesses that it is his cue to start walking towards the exit. At the door he turns and looks at me, waiting for a kiss, and although we had an amazing night, I couldn’t help but give just a single kiss on the cheek. He smiled behind a “thank you, see you soon hopefully”, then made his way out of the apartment complex.

Gone, gone, gone, finally gone and finally I can think. What is wrong with me? How can I let myself do that? All of that? Was I really becoming such an irresponsible and easy girl? Is it really so bad to simply know what I want and take it when I want it? Most importantly over all, where in the damn hell is D so I can get another opinion on this?

I give in and call, and I guess D gives in and starts caring about her friends.

“Hey D where in the hell have you been?”

“Heyyyy Sammmmm, I’ve been a bit busy I got caught up with some people last night.” She was obviously still high from the night before.

“Whatever D, want to meet me at Café Olé for breakfast?”

“Fuck yes that sounds great right now, meet you in thirty.”

Café Olé was a good thirty minutes from either of us so we arrive at basically the same time and take our usual seats outside under an umbrella. Our young waiter comes equipped with a menu and water for both of us, taking our drink orders then returning inside to the restaurant.

“You look… refreshed.”

“So do you!” D has such a bubbly attitude though she works in accounting. On the weekend her tightly packed hair bun becomes a cascade of curls that animates every phrase she says into a huge theatrical statement. During the week that bun must be necessary to be taken seriously, I halfheartedly wish she was wearing it now so I could take the conversation seriously. 

“Why didn’t you answer you phone last night?” my stern expression was faced with her laughs. 

“Welllllll, I got a call from an old someone early last night and took a little trip, as you can say, kinda lost track of time but here I am!” her smile was obnoxiously cute, to the point that my seriousness has melted into laughs.

“Wait… so you’re telling me you tripped last night?”

“Mhmmmmmm, it’s been a w h i l e.”

“You don’t say, years I bet, since Tom moved away to California.”

“Mhmmmmmm”

“It was him wasn’t it, the “old someone”…”

“Mhmmmmmm”

“Oh wow it was?” I suddenly remembered the last time we spoke of him, D wasn’t so much excited to admit he was leaving, yet not outspokenly sad about it either. It was hard to pin down exactly what D was feeling in the moment, and usually took a while to get an answer after the moment has passed.

“…Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, and you? How was your night.” D was smart enough under all that bubbliness to know how to smoothly get off a subject.

“Long, weird, still stuck in it a bit.”

“Wow Sam, who did you let in your cookie jar last night?”

I can’t help but laugh at my transparency and her juvenile way of bringing my attention to it, “Shut it Delilah, no one wants to hear about my cookie jar over brunch.”

“Well I beg to differ Samantha, who wouldn’t want to hear about a petite and nubile cookie jar getting into some frisky business?” Those damned curls really make this conversation so hard to get away from.

“Okay, okay, it’s true…” I try to whisper to her as our waiter comes out of the restaurant with our mimosas, “someone has… gotten in the jar last night.”

“Finally!” she yells it loud enough for the waiter to take personal offense to it and start walking faster to the table.

“Who was it? Billy from the Creative Department? Hasn’t he been sending you not so subtle hints for the longest time?”

“Oh hell no, never Billy. It was someone new you don’t know about.”

She is left speechless at this, motionless even, as if a crime scene unfolded in front of her.

“How. Drunk. Were. You. Last. Night?” after this staccato response a rush of questions came at me from the other side of the table like an avalanche.

“Was it someone you know? Where were you? Were they someone from work? Did you go to theirs or did they go to yours? Was it good? Was it bad? Are you going to call him? Her?!” then a breath, “Was it consensual?!”

“Very, no, at the Nest, no, my place, can’t remember the rest, and yes it was consensual or I’d be having this conversation with the police!” I was out of breath sooner than she was and it became apparent to me that the waiter was back for our order.

“The Special with Pancakes, please.”

“I’ll take the same.”

The waiter walks away with a bewildered look on his face.

“That waiter might spit in our food…” I truly couldn’t blame him after that last fiasco.

“No he won’t, he’s been checking us out this whole time.”

“Hope you’re right…” my attempt at changing subjects was detected and D was back on it harder than before.

“So Sam, going to call back the mystery guy or not?”

“His name is Tracy and I don’t know.” I truly didn’t know. He was interesting, but nothing to break my head over. Good in bed but I had to tell him what to do. His saving grace was that he listened. It took a little while but people usually never listen or just listen when it is too late.

“Maybe again to rattle my brains if he is down with no commitment but that’s it.”

“A guy that would be down with no commitment, that’s really hard to find.” Her sarcasm was just as animated as everything else she said.

“You’d be surprised.” She really would be surprised, sometimes it is the hardest thing to find, because even if you make intentions clear everyone always wants more.

“So you’re joining the wild bunch? Swearing off relationships and using men for the only thing they’re good for?” She smiled at me behind this statement but I could tell she was hoping for a sappy response to warm her heart and reaffirm her lost faith in love.

“No, not yet, but I’m considering it. I mean if I can find someone that can take all my bullshit and my work schedule, great, but if I can just have someone to jump on top of when I feel like jumping, that would be great too.”

She smiled and was quite speechless at this, and I knew the next thing she said would be an attempt to embarrass me to the fullest extent.

“My Sam is finally becoming a woman!”

There it is, the eventual salt to the wound that I saw coming from miles away. It is alright though, with each insult I become a bit stronger, a bit more immune.

“If only you could follow in my example, huh D?” I’ve learned to bite back a bit.

“Hahaha sick burn Sam, back to business however, how is business? Any hope in escaping hell at work?” my quip calmed D down a bit and brought a more serious tone to her.

We went on for well into our meal about the intricacies that is junior editing for The Hub. The go getting, the long nights, the tedious copies and summarizations that eventually go unused, the meetings, oh god the meetings. As if we needed another hour in our sixty-hour work week to be told what to do. The frivolous memos, and worse, the amount of ass-kissing to be seen day in and day out. You can’t expect any different from a modern day internet start-up that has blown up into a corporation. Everyone is trying to make sure they’re on the next Zuckerberg’s dick before he makes the new Facebook. I tell her that now you’re either the innovator, or the curator. You’re either making something new, or reporting on what was done. To move up to senior editor I would have to do the same, I would have to either make something new inside the Hub, or find something inside of it good enough to piggyback on.

Either full of conversation or pancakes, I’m not too sure, but we left Café Olé walking silently for a while until for some odd reason the conversation returned to work for a moment. D began talking about her job, which she rarely spoke of beyond the odd, “If I never see an excel sheet again, I will be a happy lass”, I knew next to nothing about her accounting firm.

“Y’know there’s this guy John in Acquisitions that who went through a bad breakup, his fiancé left him for an old boyfriend from College...”

I looked at her a bit confused as to why this came about, but curious, “Wow that kinda sucks…”

Under her breath she continued, “that’s not the worst of it, this happened only a week before the wedding… everyone in the office was invited.”

“Holy shit, wow, that really sucks.” My response was genuine; I couldn’t believe someone could wait that long to leave someone out on the wire outside of maybe a movie. Though it must’ve sounded out of character because D became quite defensive.

D pulls out a cigarette, something she usually does when drunk or mad, after that meal it had to be the latter. “I’m serious, and I couldn’t believe it… it was crazy to hear. The guys almost didn’t want to tell me about it because they thought I would side with her, can you believe that? They thought I would somehow rationalize a person waiting until after ten thousand plus dollars is spent on a reception, just the reception mind you, with some feminine romantic spin on story. As if I, head of the budgetary committee, would be so airheaded to see pass the financial loss. After I heard it from my secretary I went right to the break room to see John and told him, “that bitch could go fuck herself, you’ll find better”, and the chatty guys finally got together and told me the rest of the story.”

“Wait there’s more?”

“Plenty.” She passes me the cigarette and proceeds to pull her tangled curls into a messy ponytail.

“So she left him two weeks ago and the wedding was supposed to be last weekend. I didn’t find this all out until this week because I didn’t R.S.V.P. for the wedding anyway so I guess I didn’t deserve a cancellation notice. I also guess the guys didn’t find out until late because I remember John took off sick during the beginning of the week. Anyway, as the story goes…”

D reaches out for the cigarette which was mostly filter at this point, takes a drag then tosses it aside, continuing her story.

“As the story goes, the guys decided after hearing all this the best remedy for John’s broken heart was a quality person to fuck it back together.”

“They got him an escort?”

“They got him a fucking escort. For what would’ve been his wedding night.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Oh wow indeed, so when I told them congrats on being the best co-workers a person could ask for and actually went to go in for my first high five in the office I was really pissed when it wasn’t immediately returned.”

“You actually went for a high five?”

“I fucking did and they just stared at me until Bill, openly singing Taylor Swift sober at Office Karaoke night Bill, came out of the copy room and gave me one, not even knowing why.”

“That’s fucked, so then what happened?”

“Then the whole thing turned into a discussion on the financial pros and cons of hiring a hooker over tying the knot until Fisher came out of his office and we got back to work. No one would want to have a conversation like that next to that born again Christian.”

“That is pretty great, so why are you mad about it?” I light up a cigarette and pass it to along.

“Where we left off the conversation. We basically agreed that paying just for sex saves you plenty in the long run, for both sexes, but when I began to bring up my last points for the biggest expenditures a woman could save on in an economy with legal prostitution, the intern that was listening in on the whole thing laughed. I asked why and he simply said, “who would hire a male prostitute instead of going out and getting it for free, only an ugly broad, and I mean ugly, would have to do that” and everyone else started to laugh at that too, so I became mad and started to defend why even I would consider it, and that’s when Fisher’s door opened.”

“I hope he didn’t hear.”

“Christ I hope he did, exorcise the stick that guy has in his ass.” She passes me back the cigarette, returning the favor with an ace that I quickly toss away.

“Can you believe that intern though? The balls to make a statement like that?”

“I mean, if I could pay to make sure that the dick I was getting was worthwhile, instead of getting strung around on three dates I have to put hours of commitment in just to find out he’s married, and can’t get it up, why not make the investment?”

“Exactly, sometimes you just need a little and that’s it, back to business. We all have needs; they just weren’t getting it.”

Of course I had my own cynical view of hiring a male prostitute but who wants to get into a debate this early on a Sunday afternoon. The intern was an asshole, but he has a misogynistic point. In the relationship world, women do have the upper hand in being able to pounce and flirt better than men. It wouldn’t be hard for me, or D, to find some Joe in Café Olé, or even on this walk, and convince him to give us his number, and we’re not supermodels. I wouldn’t doubt any women, of any shape, size, or form, would have too much of an issue finding a suitor. Though where the intern put his head up his ass is when he used that word ugly. It immediately implies that he, and everyone that laughs, owns a standard of beauty and may use it to take advantage. To tell someone they have to pay for it, or to treat them like garbage and leave them on the curb after taking whatever they want. It’s how they rationalize all the worst things, “she’s ugly, she’s lucky she’s getting any in the first place”, or “better pretty up or you’ll go nowhere”, we’ve all heard it before in some form.

The more I think about it however the more I start to rationalize the use of a male escort. The control to say, “please leave”, without remorse or ramification would be a nice start. How about not having to meet another group of friends that seem to have a collective IQ lower than their collective alcohol content? If we’re being really imaginative, how about being able to not go to another reunion or banquet alone or with your best friend? The perks are there, especially if it was legal and regulated, because we all have heard that one story that has come out of that one long relationship, where suddenly, everyone has chlamydia. By the end of the walk to the subway there was only two thoughts on my mind, why isn’t this legal, and what kind’ve money can even be found in a business like this.

“So D, did you ever find out how much the guys paid?”

“That’s the crazy part, they told me they really felt bad, so they pooled together as much as they could spare from that payday and hired one for about six grand.”

“Wow, that much? That can’t be normal.”

“Oh no, not at all. They got him the Ferrari of escorts. I wouldn’t doubt that girl did things to him they don’t even allow on the internet. I asked them the usual going rate and they told me if you don’t want to wind up with itches and creams you usually spend the better part of a grand, but if you want to take a coin flip, three hundred isn’t bad odds, though anything less, and you’re asking for it.”

“Still that is black market sex, in a regulated world I bet that would drop.”

“It would but to be honest”, lightening up a little D removed her scrunchy, releasing those curls from their prison, “whoever is running that black market gambit is making plenty scratch, especially those Ferrari dealers.” As she said this she slipped out a smile and the oncoming train sent her curls in a frenzy.

“Well I guess I’ll see you later!”

The train stops and the doors open as we open up from our hug. She waves goodbye to me and I to her as the doors close and the train speeds away. Walking down the stairs of the station, in through one corridor, then up another stairwell and onto the downtown platform I started to think of the last night, of this morning, of everything. Of all the quirks, of all the stories, and most of all, the possibilities.

 PT. II Soon.