Last week I went out to a club I don't usually go to, a kind of old-school Russian place where older people hang out, with zebra-skin sofas and low-level gangsters (ban-deets, as they're known here) and a lot of women in their twenties, many divorced and looking for a second husband.
I met a girl and spent the evening making out with her; turns out she was married and has a child.
Nonetheless she called me repeatedly during the week and urged meeting again.
So finally I did, on Friday. We danced a few times, she bought me some vodka, then she saw one of her husband's friends and had to run off and pretend like we weren't together.
I left the club and almost immediately stepped in a pothole while crossing the street and twisted my ankle, which is now the size of a grapefruit.
I was laid up all day and night Saturday playing old Playstation games on the Playstation 1 I bought in Thailand in 1999. Lara Croft rules.
Although a lot of those adventure games suck in retrospect. They always break down to running around looking for keys. I spend enough time looking for keys in real life.
1 comment:
at least shes got a nice rack to stare at while looking [;
AmE
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