At the bars

"After work the American girls went into the bars and intoxicated themselves and looked for men to have sex with. He knew what talking to them was like. She would ask what he did for a living and where he lived and if he owned his own place and then, if she wasn’t too drunk, she proceeded to test him in more subtle ways. It was a game. If he played the game correctly he would have sex with her. But sometimes her girlfriend came and dragged her off. That was how it worked in America."

My Friday night, as described perfectly by Moraline. She tore a piece of napkin and wrote her number in pen and gave it to me. I did not ask for it. She was pretty and blond and played with her hair, so she was most likely ovulating and desiring intercourse. Despite her looks, she was part of the matrix, a very pretty and unique cinder block pinned between the tonnage of the wall over which I had jumped. So she had to give me her number, as I would not ask for it. Just as I did not ask for her name. She had to tell me. Her friend had to tell me. Her favorite city was Budapest, she said. That's not a very free city, I thought, so you must like charming socialism. She volunteered in the Bronx, the only white girl. When the two girls left I put the scrap of napkin in my back pocket, got their seats and was happy to finally sit down.