Monday, October 06, 2003

Late Saturday Night: You're outside one of those dive bars that you hardly ever go to anymore. (No really. You've sworn off them. Really.) Two pretty young things enter and exit one second later.

"Do you know where we can go? We don't have ids."

You wonder: how old are these girls?

"How old are you?"


Here are the thoughts that go through your head. First: is this some sort of set up? A sophisticated sting operation? Is it illegal to point a minor in the direction of a bar that is lax about the age of its drinkers? Second: you could always pour them a glass of whiskey over at your place. Third: you are going to Hell, aren't you?

"Uhm, maybe you shouldn't be drinking?"

Do you really think God's going to forgive the second thought just because you said the right thing? You don't even mean it.

"Or, well, maybe you should go drink in the dorms with your friends." That's better? Getting fed mad-dog and groped by some sophomore in a stairwell. Is that sulphur you're smelling?

"Well, we don't want to drink so much. We really want to dance."

That's easy: bulgarian bar. Maybe you aren't such a bad guy after all. Just hope they aren't still there later...