My friends and I tried out Bar Floyd the other night, and I made my way in past the doorman and the guy who "RAWR-ed" at me in reference to my leopard print dress to the couch next to the books. The world cup was inevitably going on, and I still don't care. My friends and I were havin a legit time, and then this horn noise kept happening. I was wondering if it was the TV and some celebration noise for a soccer thingamajig, but alas, twas you, Mr. Horn Blower. Ten minutes later I told my friends, "if he blows it again I'm going over there." And then you did, and then I did. You and your friend were piss-happy. I looked at you and said, "Are you the one blowing the horn? It's annoying." Your friend said some jackassery, and you were slightly stunned that someone who wasn't an obnoxious dude was talking to you. I could totally tell that you wanted to appease your comrades and continue being a douche. I asked you if I could have the horn, and you said no. Then I asked one more time if you would consider stopping and walked away. As I made my way back to the couch, I heard the horn followed by laughter. I heard it about two more times, and then I heard the faint sound of realization- realization that your loud-ass horn blows.
If you see this, have fun ruining good timez.
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I went to a concert on a windy night. The street that the venue was supposed to be on was dark and deserted. I walked down to the correct street number, but there was no venue; a digital services office loomed in its place. An elegant girl emerged from the darkness, looking for the same concert that I was. After hunting high and low, we discovered the secret entrance to the club. As we talked in the cavernous concert hall and waited for the bands to arrive, the girl revealed her sharp wit and cool taste. We locked eyes a few times under the dim lights and the loud music, but she left before I could say what I was thinking.
If you see this, email me.
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