tail-end of a tropical storm dampening the city today and hiding anything over 4 stories in fog. nothing worth battening down the hatches, but it's soggy and dreary, the tail-end of summer grasping for autumn.
there seemed a window of climatic decency when i was exiting the commuter station so i hotfooted to haymarket in just a mere drizzle.
lurking in some doorway, a tubby old guy in light blue shorts, oh-so-smartly accessorized with a white belt, whom i would not have noticed except he had this to say: "guess this is a bad hair day, huh?"
what went through my head in a flash, far faster than words aloud ever can travel, was, " well, gee, gramps, i just got my brains fucked out quite well twice in 7 hours, spent some time before that dancing in the rain with good friends and the man of my dreams, and just didn't have time to get cover-shoot primo before catching your eye."
what i said was, " sweet-talk all the ladies like that?"
did he read that idiotic book by that douche that recommends "reverse complimenting" (i.e. insulting) chicks to get their attention? or is he just a complete asshole?
i'm quite sure he gets laid right regular, lmao. :o
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