Last night I rode the scooter for miles through a Chicago spring evening (a dinnertime trek with horrid weather). My glasses were opaque with fog, my pants stuck to my thighs, and even through gloves my stiff little fingers could barely move. The sky spat icy droplets like needles ramming into my body at thirty miles an hour. My face hurt so much that I wanted to cry, but instead I took great pride in being tough enough to zoom through the streets. The bus is for rain-fearing sissies.
Around nine I went to Bite and drew woodland creatures. I tried to draw a frog, but then I realized that I couldn't imagine what frogs look like. So instead I drew a snake, and gave the drawings to my partner in crime for the evening.
Partner in Crime and I went next door to the Empty Bottle. Boy, was it crowded. I saw Grouchy Vespa Boy, who strangely looked happy to see me. He waved me over and was oddly flirtatious. Usually he is a depressive git who finds the worst in everything, but he revealed that he and his ladyfriend broke up. Aha. We excitedly carried on for a minute about how nice it is to be single ("Because everybody thinks you're cute!" / "Yes, and you can flirt with impunity!"). He's the mod-est guy I know. He has that floppy longish hair, a scooter, and last night he was wearing a suit with an ascot. An ascot! A wee bit over the top, yes, but weirdly endearing.
Partner In Crime used the word "fisticuffs" at one point last night. What's not to love about a quirky, wide vocabulary?
Around nine I went to Bite and drew woodland creatures. I tried to draw a frog, but then I realized that I couldn't imagine what frogs look like. So instead I drew a snake, and gave the drawings to my partner in crime for the evening.
Partner in Crime and I went next door to the Empty Bottle. Boy, was it crowded. I saw Grouchy Vespa Boy, who strangely looked happy to see me. He waved me over and was oddly flirtatious. Usually he is a depressive git who finds the worst in everything, but he revealed that he and his ladyfriend broke up. Aha. We excitedly carried on for a minute about how nice it is to be single ("Because everybody thinks you're cute!" / "Yes, and you can flirt with impunity!"). He's the mod-est guy I know. He has that floppy longish hair, a scooter, and last night he was wearing a suit with an ascot. An ascot! A wee bit over the top, yes, but weirdly endearing.
Partner In Crime used the word "fisticuffs" at one point last night. What's not to love about a quirky, wide vocabulary?
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