You are confused because there are more attractive girls out with you. That's not a statement to dig for compliments; you just know your eyes are all bloodshot from the weed and your hair is limp because you didn't wash it after the gym this morning and OH OKAY, now you are talking, whoops, this is weird. He is wearing a really nice sweater. It's tan and cable knit.
STEP FIVE:
Flirt like a motherfucker. Lick your lips. He notices. He tells you he went to school in British Columbia. "I've always wanted to go to British Columbia!" you tell him, excited because that is actually the truth and not a lie you made up to keep him interested. He is so tall and he laughs at how much he has to bend down to yell in your ear. Wonder if his height correlates to penis size. The conversation gets awkward and you go outside for a cigarette, wondering if he'll follow. Don't see him again for the rest of the night.
STEP SIX:
Smoke outside. Laugh at everything everyone says. Tell your friends how a boy (a boy, really, he couldn't have been more than 21) was talking to you. "So we're doing this now, right?" you say, and everyone laughs. Most of your friends leave. Even though you were dragged into this, feel a rush of sadness that the night is ending. "Are you going too?" they ask, and hand you your coat. It's 2am, what else can you do but go home? You take the coat.
STEP SEVEN:
Wrap your scarf around you and walk in the first direction you see. It is not the one you wanted but, whatever. Listen to your heels - which are really bothering you now - make the loudest noise on the quietest street. Get spooked by your own shadow. Reflect on how that is a cliche, but a true cliche. The heels click, clack so loud and all you can think is one foot in front of the other. Hold your scarf around your neck protecting your skin from the cold and so that your hands have something to do. Hail a cab. "Are you going home?" the cabbie asks. You can't even begin to answer that question accurately so you say nothing. The heels were a mistake.
STEP FIVE:
Flirt like a motherfucker. Lick your lips. He notices. He tells you he went to school in British Columbia. "I've always wanted to go to British Columbia!" you tell him, excited because that is actually the truth and not a lie you made up to keep him interested. He is so tall and he laughs at how much he has to bend down to yell in your ear. Wonder if his height correlates to penis size. The conversation gets awkward and you go outside for a cigarette, wondering if he'll follow. Don't see him again for the rest of the night.
STEP SIX:
Smoke outside. Laugh at everything everyone says. Tell your friends how a boy (a boy, really, he couldn't have been more than 21) was talking to you. "So we're doing this now, right?" you say, and everyone laughs. Most of your friends leave. Even though you were dragged into this, feel a rush of sadness that the night is ending. "Are you going too?" they ask, and hand you your coat. It's 2am, what else can you do but go home? You take the coat.
STEP SEVEN:
Wrap your scarf around you and walk in the first direction you see. It is not the one you wanted but, whatever. Listen to your heels - which are really bothering you now - make the loudest noise on the quietest street. Get spooked by your own shadow. Reflect on how that is a cliche, but a true cliche. The heels click, clack so loud and all you can think is one foot in front of the other. Hold your scarf around your neck protecting your skin from the cold and so that your hands have something to do. Hail a cab. "Are you going home?" the cabbie asks. You can't even begin to answer that question accurately so you say nothing. The heels were a mistake.
