"Come home with me," she
"Come home with me," she said.
She snaked her arm around mine and entwined her fingers with my own and we were holding hands.
"I really want you to," she added.
It was 3:30am at the Marquee Club. The lights were starting to come on (we call it "The Harsh Light of Truth"). This young woman was looking kind of pretty. She was also looking a little too drunk.
"Ummm," I said. "I have to go. I have to tear down the stage."
I slipped away and hopped up on stage and started coiling up cables. The DJs were up there as well, putting away their turntables and mixer.
"Well look at that," I said a few minutes later.
The young woman I'd just been talking to had her back to the bar. She was leaning backwards slightly and the Evil Robot Guy was leaning over her.
We'd been making fun of the Evil Robot Guy all night. He'd already left with one ridiculously drunk woman, only to return to the bar alone five minutes later. (Maybe she passed out and he left her in a snowbank.) Now he was at it again.
I thought the Evil Robot Guy was kissing her neck. Then I realized he was only talking in her ear. But still.
"I think I'm going to have to pull off a daring rescue," I said.
"Don't touch her man, she was making out with the Evil Robot Guy," said one of the DJs. "You'll catch something nasty."
But still. On my way out of the bar I went and stood a few feet away from her. I made eye contact and did not look away, and then I asked her one simple question, and twenty seconds later the two of us were heading out the door together. Sorry y'all.
She had her arm around mine again. At the doorway I started to look around for a cab. "I live this way..." she was saying. Oh, this poor thing was completely loaded.
Across the parking lot, a couple of my friends were getting into a car. "Come on," I said.
"Any way we could arrange to give this young woman a lift?" I asked. My lady and I climbed into the back seat.
She talked drunk talk all the way to her place and hugged me and pressed up close against me.
Glasses, long brown hair. Nice body.
I briefly considered hanging out with her. Definitely not to have sex. Maybe we could just make out for a while, until she passed out. It could be fun.
But I shook off the thought. I'm not going around making out with drunk chicks.
We let her off at her place. I said goodbye. I didn't want to hug her, for some reason. She stepped inside her front door and I felt a small sense of relief.
As one of my friends stated, inelegantly but not inaccurately: "That chick was fucking gangrape material."
I've been kind of brooding. Something about that whole experience has slightly tempered the sexual optimism I'd been feeling all month.
Really drunk women, really sleazy guys. I don't know what it is. That shit just bugs me.