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Archives 2002-04-27 - 5:56 p.m.


"You like bas-e-ball?" (Think Japanese accent.)

Day 69

There's a sort of permanency to my stay here that permates the air.

My pimp, Fernando (he's my regular bartender) has been quite effective in finding me female companions whenever I make it to his bar. Though I find the wisdom of picking up women at bars rather pointless, I suppose that really isn't the point. The point is, "it's better than sitting at home."

The whole scene is more akin to "Oh well, if I must" then a proper version of your local Sunday meat market. Veltins drinking aristocrats mixed in with your irrepressibly angry youth, and the odd punk laced in here or there. I've managed to have met more people at the bar in these last couple of months than I've had the last three years, thanks to the guy who's oft quoted in ABBA lore.

But I find that I'm obsessive compulsive in regards to telling people about my life. Everytime I meet someone new, it's always storybook time, complete with benign gesturing and awkward smiles. It bugs me to no end that I speak so bloody much, that I've decided to start lying about myself when I'm meeting someone new now. That way, it makes it less tempting for me to delve into the accounts of my sordid life.

Last evening, I got home at 5:30 a.m., which actually makes it this morning. I would have stayed a bit longer (the bars don't close till 6 a.m., alcohol included), but I didn't really feel like being a third wheel. You see, three guys (Fernando, this English bloke from Cardiff, and myself) and two Japanese flight attendents make for a kitchen with too many cooks and not enough sauce (even though out of the lot of them, I was the only single fellow. Go figure.) So I decided to bow out, for the safety of my own sanity. They went to the hotel, I assume, to do some 'other' stuff, while I got stiffed with the cab fare.

Oh well, the conversation was bloody hard anyway. Broken English is not my specialty...

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