Wait. You're legal right?

The catastrophe in my previous scenario was one large enough to make me want to go out get drunk and forget it all. I call Sega, the boy from the party, and have him swing by to escort me for a night on the town. He takes me to a small Ethiopian bar in East Oakland which featured loud reggae blasting through the curtained windows. The bar had seemingly closed for the evening but 2 knocks and a special handshake later, we were on the inside. I follow him towards the back where the kitchen is and he picks up a plate of a juicy hamburger and fries. "Anything to drink?", he asks me. "Vodka and tonic. Thanks". We go to sit down near the deejay in a secluded lounge area. He cuts the food in half for us to share but I politely decline. Moments later after he scarfs down the entire plate alone (he was really hungry), he looks at me. I sip my cocktail and smile coyly. I wasn't really in a talking mood. Not after the death I had just witnessed less than an hour ago. I let him do the talking. I sip my drink. We bob our heads to the music. Finally, he goes to the bar and orders himself a dry gin. "Ever try?" And that's when I become tipsy to the fullest. Not quite drunk, but definitely acting ditsy. I laugh a little too loud at his jokes and lean in closer when he puts his around me. I giggle non-stop. "There's an after-party at the warehouse if you want to stay out longer." Absolutely. It's as we are walking to the car that I realize we have both been drinking. "Wait! We're drunk. You're drunk. We can't drive." "Nooo...you can't. I'm fine." I stop in my tracks. He turns around. Then I spill everything to him about the nightmare on Lakeshore avenue. The car, the woman, the 911 call, everything. I am rambling a mile a minute and I cant stop. I stop to breathe but I cant seem to catch my breathe. Suddenly he interrupts and grabs me by the waist and lifts my chin up to meet his eyes. "Everything will be fine, sweetie". Somehow I knew this was bad news bears, but something about his security and my intoxicated state made me trust him and get into the car. Fortunately, we make it safely to the Warehouse where I find out that we have to sneak him in because he isn't old enough to drink. "You're how old?!", I demand. "20. Ill be 21 in November though." Grreeaat. "You know what? Let's just go get some food and call it a night." So he puts inserts the key in the ignition and we both listen as it coughs and dies. "Umm...can we stay just a little longer?" Needless to say, I spend the evening with the last guy I will probably date in California. At least for awhile.

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • Twitter
  • RSS

0 Response to "Wait. You're legal right?"

Post a Comment