That’s Quite a Get-Up

“Yeah, this outfit only attracts a certain kind of asshole in a place like this,” the young lady who I shared an economics class with screamed to me over the loud, throbbing pulse that some one some where must call music if it’s being played in a club.  “But if I had any dignity at all, you think I’d be here in the first place, drinking this . . . ‘whatever’tini?  Once you hit bottom, it’s easier to keep going down instead of reclaiming your pride.  After awhile, it becomes sort of a game to see how much further you can push the line.  My friends and I started a contest.”

“Are you winning?”

She paused to down the rest of her drink, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, and eye a prospect dancing across the room.  “No one wins.  You don’t win with things like that.”

Well, it’s hard to argue with that logic, I told myself, and went outside to get a bacon-wrapped hotdog from the vendor on the corner.

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