Last night was a night like any other Friday night. I worked the night shift at the hotel. I took off an hour early to meet Max and Miss India, but that fell through, so I biked back to Townhouse and danced by myself until a beautiful girl took me by the hand and started to spin under it, and we danced a real dance holding each other close in a tango embrace and always spinning, spinning, spinning. She was a good dancer. She was older than I, and had a French accent that I just barely picked up on when she told me she had a boyfriend. I kissed her hand with a smile and told her to find friends. She dropped her drink on the way.
Later, I had to save her from a guy much drunker than I, and I took her outside and bummed us a cigarette to share. Like brand new best friends, we talked small and bummed more cigarettes. She's from Toronto and she's a UN consultant, and she told me I was dangerous because of my looks and the way that I danced. "I'm not going home with you," she kept saying, half to me, half to herself.
And I said, "Ok," until her friends came out, and I smiled and told them to get her home safe. They were good people, two girls and a guy. Beautiful people walking down Windward.
Why is it that I'm always attracting beautiful girls with boyfriends now. It was St. Patty's Day all over again. Just names, no phone numbers. Beautiful strangers. I feel like fucking James Bond, but I'm miserable because I'm still in love with her, the breath of fresh air, that Claire.
I could've gone home then, but I went back inside and ran smack into Elle and Sebo and they invited me over for some hand-rolled cigarettes and hot lemon water among other delights (a girl accosted me on the way), and we stayed up until 4:00 talking about traveling and the joys of life. Like free burritos and sock sponsors. He's a skater. Beautiful.
