Suddenly Walt comes into the picture. I can tell he saw me from the dance floor, because he's running towards me, sweating horribly all over the place. He has a glass of rum and coke on his left hand ("always grab your drink with your left hand, that way you can touch the bitches with your right one", the fucker always says, like if he wanted to be quoted by important scholars in the future. Dicklicker), and he jumps right in front of me. I can tell he doesn't even notice Lauren. And what does he say? (And yes, I can tell he's being doing blow all night, just by the way he's screaming. Screaming so much, even Marty can hear the fucker).
"Guess who's here tonight? And she's looking as hot as ever, man".
I wanna die. Right before he speaks I actually think of saying: "Lauren? She's right here WITH ME, MOTHER FUCKER". But it's too long a sentence, and he just goes right out and says it.
"RENEE... FUCKING..." and he’s doing this stupid 360 degrees turn he always does when he's terribly excited (and powdered up). The funny thing is - yes, "funny" - he stops at 180 degrees right when he has Lauren in front of him.
"... Sterling".
I'm dead.
“Hi, Lauren”, Walt says, and Lauren is silent as fuck. She looks at me and starts heading into the dance floor. I grab her arm, and she gives me that look. Now, when we see in the movies that the guy grabs the woman by the arm, you can sense she kinda likes it, she really enjoys this manly beast stopping her. Not with Lauren. Actually not with any woman I know. Do not do this in real life. Anyway. So Lauren just lets me know with her killing look that I should probably let go of her arm, and that I do. Before she keeps going her way, she says in a very soft and quiet voice that she’s going to the bathroom. How I understood her, I have no fucking clue. I think of Marty and how he reads lips. Who knows, maybe I should be a fucking bartender. So I turn back to Walt, who has a face that says he KNOWS he has fucked up but doesn’t give a damn.
“Oops”, he says.
“Oops indeed, shit-for-brains”, I answer back.
I just forget the whole thing. There’s actually nothing to do about it.
“Who did you come with?”, I ask Walt, drinking my vodka tonic.
“Just some of the guys. Mark, Robbie, the Panda”.
“The Panda’s here?”, I ask surprised. I haven’t seen the Panda since he got his father’s much younger wife pregnant. But I do not want to spend the night talking to the Panda. Fuck the Panda. He might be Walt’s best friend, but I never really liked the guy. He’s just fun to be around, that’s all.
“Where the fuck’s the Panda, man? I gotta talk to that son of a bitch”, I lie.
Walt points to the dance floor, and yes, how could I not have noticed him before? There’s the mother fucking Panda. Big boy Panda. Extremely hard not to notice the prick, with his size and all. Look at him, doing his Michael-Jackson-on-crack dance. Shit, motherfucker hasn’t changed a bit. I turn around and head the other way, but who’s standing in front of me? This night is too weird. Alright.
No comments:
Post a Comment