Ode to September 4th

The night was warm, the whiskey was too.

We were battered and tired, but we chose to persevere.

He stood on Roscoe and Leavitt, cell phone in hand, hip popped like a champ.

They invited us in.

She lied, we laughed.

More drinks were poured....

whiskey rivers ran wild.

We danced. We danced. We danced.

South Africa again?

France was there two.

But he tried to prove he liked women. We laughed... you can't fool us.

But the mistake was already made:

Number had been exchanged: 3333.

oooooooopppppppsssssss

Some wanted burritos and some wanted to sleep.

A man was hailed. A lie was told.

The ride was free. "Well we didn't want to get raped."

It was only 3 blocks.

A wallet was lost... a return was made.

More numbers exchanged.

"I felt bad for him and could care less about his girlfriend."

Home. And one was down.

And THEY arrived.

Numbers were remembered.

Stones thrown... it could have been romantic, if one was convinced they like girls.

Yelling. Texting. Yelling.

A final goodnight. goodbye. please forget our address.

And a killer hang over.