I fall asleep, here’s a message waking me up at 3 am: “feel like keeping me and a friend of mine company in The Cube tonight?” It was a girl that both me and one of my best friends matched with on Tinder. She played a mean Counter Strike GO hand and raged whenever people weren’t covering her or backing her up properly, then apologized immediately and stopped playing for a few days just to show that she’s aware of her inability to coordinate virtual gun shooting with femininity. Neither me nor my friend actually met her in real life, so I said hey, if the girl wants to take it outside at least I’m gonna beat my buddy at it. I ain’t Cockblock McGee for nothing!

Swagged my 10 years old jeans that I stole from a Salvation Army – put them in the bag alongside a few other items and a book and just paid $5 for the duffle bag – a black T-shirt and a blue and red checkered shirt, skate shoes set, I was out the door by 3:20.

I see a tall mammoth looking chick from the distance and a short chubby one on her phone and I dazed on the possibility my date was neither of them, the tall one or rather a crossbreed of both. Thought tall and fat would have been worse, so I dismissed any criticism for the time being so I could anchor one of my nicest smiles:

– Hey, how are you? Danny, but people call me CSGO rage.
– Oh, don’t make me feel bad. I always feel remorseful after having one of my paroxistic gaming moments.
– Cool, man. Don’t go cursing about in real life, ok? Who’s your friend? Danny, nice to… you’re the tall one of the group, huh?
– The guy’s a real jokester.
– Aye, are we here to have fun or what? Let’s head in.

Inside The Cube smoke was piled up like a post-bombing mushroom. I could barely hear the girls, but the conversation went a little like this:

– So where are you from?
– Bro, I’m from Great Climbs, what about you gals?
– I’m from Domina and my friend, whom I met at Uni – we’re both studying Law – is from…
– Don’t tell him, let him guess.
– It’s close to Great Climbs, isn’t it?
– Uh uh. That’s what makes it interesting.
– Well, there’s nothing interesting in Geography. Bunch of boring cities crammed up one next to another, unless there’s a story to them. Geography rarely deals with stories, though. Heights, lows, temperatures, fixed data, you know? Oh, wait, don’t tell me you’re from that, what do you call it?
– Come on, guess!
– There’s a city next to Climbs that’s known for its women’s catholic adherence to all the wildest sex acts you can imagine. Do you know what I’m talking about?
– …
– I think that’s not the type of answer my friend was looking for. We didn’t call you here tonight to get insulted…
– No, come on, what people say about a city isn’t always the truth, is it?
– Yeah, but we have to maintain a positive note so we could…
– Positive, spare me. I’m not gonna prostitute my thoughts, but the girls from Kasper will. That’s the name of the city. Literally every women that I meet from there is a wild whore. No exception. There, there’s a bit of corroboration, more mint in your apple soup, ladies.
– You’re a bit of a dick, aren’t you?
– Dude, I tell it how I see it. Kasper’s on a small mountain slope, and men from there might be whores too, who the hell knows. I’m just naturally into girls, so them is whom I’ll refer to.
– Yeah, but she’s from there, you can’t just make her a whore.
– I’m not. If she is one, then I’m sure I never made her stray. We’ve just met, no dicks got into any pussies, so how would I know, right?
– No, leave it, I am a bit of a whore.
– Pride, baby! I love it. And how’s your whoremeter doing today? Any new dicks beeping on the radar?
– I was thinking of fucking you. You’re tall, like me, you’re good looking, but your mouth blew the whole deal.
– Didn’t know there was any deal. I like to be in a relationship before having sex, and I usually wait for a month, two, sometimes even 6-7, before committing and moving to the next step. I only have one life, at the end of the day.
– Wtf, didn’t think you were the sort.
– Yeah, I’m going for a cig. Wanna join me?
– Ye, we can all go.s

Outside I busted some jokes, kept it nice and fly. These girls weren’t me, so I’d know I would hit the road by 4 am. Batteries were still charged, but hell, was the normal reception off. The small and chubby one, Leya was her name, she busted the old “sorry you couldn’t stay more” routine, I smiled and let her know that if she’s ok with it, we could meet up for a post-rage cig sometime, just the two of us, tell stories, have a laugh. She was new to the city so I could show her around too. Looked eager enough. Whore chief decided to go inside without saying goodbye. At 4:30 I’m in bed, at 5 am I get awoken by another SMS: “i’m mega sorry i had to wake you up again. Didn’t know who to talk to. Monica and i changed the bar for a club and she started flirting with the guards, they took her to a room and i think they fucked and now’s she’s talking to everybody at the bar..”

A few minutes after my silence I get this: “omg, she’s having sex with a random guy that bought her a beer at the bar. People think that because I came here with her I wanna join the orgy too. Can you please come and get me out of here? I don’t have any more money on me and I can’t afford a cab.”

I called her, she said something that sounded like the name of a club, but then it broke off and I was only left with a sense of urgency. Phone was down, probably battery dead. I got into the car, drove to the bar, went to neighbouring clubs and asked around the front door about a tall chick that was making out with the guards. People only looked at me funny. Thought I was this sex addict, had that “we’re not that sort of establishment” look about them. Fuck outta here, man, strangers gather in a place where they balm their senses in poorly delivered music, honey for their epileptic seizures, dance their little pre-sex ritual and then say yes to “wanna get outta here” and you’re getting all mystical on me. “Nah, bro, you guys read books and recite poems in there, huh? Take each person’s IQ, sum it up, divide it by how many morons partake in the test, and the number won’t surpass 10, and that’s only because I’m there.” The guard looked like he wanted to take a swing at me. Another one steps in and says, “Yo, I fucked that girl, what, are you her boyfriend or something? “ Distancing time. “Nah, not even close. She was with a girl, smaller, looked like she just ate a ceremonial cow and never digested it properly.” “You into fat chicks, man?” “Of course, bro. Fully grown chicken make the soup tastier. None of that KFC meat, man”. We chuckled, they showed me the way to the bathroom, where two guys were getting sucked off by Monica, her makeup looked like from Friday the 13th, her jeans ripped around the knee, natural bad girl, what can I say? Had to fight off a few sword wielders that were waiting their turn, had to block out the story one was telling the other, something about someone’s fiancé that fucked 8 guys all at once in a cemetery, two in the stink, one in the pink, two on each corner of her mouth, two at each side masturbating to her tits, having full contact with those nipples that looked like coins, black money for your darkest desires, and one waiting his turn some 2 meters away. Didn’t listen to the whole story, just said I wanna pee, moved past this circus, hoped she’d say something whence seeing me, which she did, she talked like a toddler with a candy addiction, uttered “Leya broke her heel and went home on foot, literally like barefoot”. I said, “Yeah, thanks, don’t speak with your mouth full, bro”, half disgusted, thinking some of these people will end up being fathers, mothers, Jesus, then got pushed in briefly by a guard that was trying to get it, this robust, disgusting looking peasant that probably had a dick meant to bend mountains.

I went home, losing hope I’d find her and her good for nothing phone. Why do people buy phones if their battery is shit, I can never get that. Taxi money niet, no phones, broken heels, fuck me, man, it’s like going on an expedition to the Whore Pole without a box littered with condoms and some furs to put underneath your knees. Without ever have told her where I live, smack right in front of my house I park next to Leya:

– What the hell, girl, are you ok?
– I will never, EVER talk to that girl again. What a disgusting night! Why the hell did I put up with her?
– Hey, you have to remember never to coalesce with girls from Kasper! Your entourage says a lot about you, you know that?
– Please don’t judge me now!
– Chillax, sis. Come on in, let’s take a look at that heel. What is it, like 5 am?
– It’s 7:30…
– Fuck, man, crash over at my place if you want to. Otherwise, I can drive you home. I’m mega sorry you got into this.
– I don’t even wanna talk about it. I’ve had a guy rub his thing on me and pull on me saying that if it’s a beer I want, like the other, I should just say so.
– Animals, man. Come on, think positive things. Welcome to my place!

I opened the door to my house, lived all alone, flowers everywhere, just brought 10 new pots from the flea market, forgot them in the car, books in bundles everywhere, pile and stacks I’ve started but never got to finish, books I would always refer to, books I’d needed to work on to finish some projects no-one asked me to write but I would anyway because I enjoy closing the lid on thoughts and climbing the ladder a bit higher each day. One of my cats came in, greeted her, sat on a couch. I watered my plants while she found some books on Law, highly amazed I even had some just laying around. She never stopped talking, enthusiastic, intelligent, the woman I never saw among the post-bombing mushroom-like smoke and the yells and the dim-witted music and the pre-sexual rituals. Here she was domestic, and she fell asleep soon, on her very own bed, covered in a blanket, a thermos of warm milk set next to her just in case she wakes up and she’s thirsty, leaving me with a question of whether it’s gonna be a month, two or 6-7 before I let her in. Man, was she lovely…

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