December 23rd I walked into a seedy neighborhood bar called Knuckleheads adjacent to a local strip joint. I was not looking for a man, but rather a break from reality to drown my sorrows with local Xmas revellers. Earlier that evening, I had tried my two-step at a Montrose nightclub where I frequently hang out with a couple of friends. The bouncer looked me up and down and asked me which party I was with. I told bonehead I was with the owner of the spot, Amir, and waited for the raincheck. I have never seen the real Amir, but the stand-in that greeted me was a guy that I had a run in with a few months ago. Assured that it would be a party of lames, I made my way to the bar I had been drowning my selfish indulgences in beer over the several of the 12 days of Christmas. Last call for alcohol and an order of 35 cent wings infront of me, a dark skinned brother by the name of Mike walked up next to me and pulled up a bar stool. He told he was from in town. He told me that he was a real nigga and at the same time he said he thought I was pretty. I asked him to clarify that and he said it again. I had on a cashmere coat in the color of camel over my hot pink dress. His black leather jacket was zipped up over his powder blue football jersey. His jeans and tennis shoes had already exuded that this would be casual encounter. "Give me your number," he said from the side of his mouth. He did not pull out a pen. He just insisted on asking for my number. He asked me want I wanted to drink and I asked Simon the bartender for a Bud Light. Simon never served my drink that night. To quell the flames of attraction with Mike, I said lets play darts. I led him over to the left side of the bar. A game was already in progess and no darts were free. I patted him on the shoulders to soak in the stranger and told him I was leaving. Strapped up in a seatbelt of my car, Mike came back around for another request. He rapped on my window. I reluctantly rolled it down. He was driving a white Honda Accord and had Three Six Mafia's "Sipping on Some Sizzurp" playing on the factory system. He gave me his receipt to Knuckleheads and asked me for my number. I gave him something to send him on his way, an email address. When I pulled into the driveway of the house, a strike of lightning came from the sky and knocked out a regulation trash pail on the on the other street.
MAC
That's What Friends Are For
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