an extrovert's wet dream
Last night Ryan, his friend Josh, and I met downtown for cheap women and loose drinks. At the Ritz Ryan spotted a table full of seven girls. I took "point" and penetrated the estrogen bubble by asking one of them for a cigarette. I then hammed them up and introduced Josh and Ryan.
They told us that they were going dancing at Elysium later on and that we should meet up with them. So we did.
I ran into Adriana there with a couple other of her friends who promptly split. That was a good surprise. The boys were mixing well with the girls, so after the club closed I organized a Love Caravan over to Ryan's pimp condo. Ten people who we just met followed me there. I felt like Moses.
The scene was pretty mellow and enjoyable. I took turns yapping with whoever decided it was their turn to smoke on the balcony. As the evening wound down I laid on the couch and watched an OLD black and white game show. In front of the host's desk sat an advertisement for Winston cigarettes complete with plastic replicas of opened packs with several butts sticking out of each pack invitingly to the viewer.
The television was muted because the stereo was thumping dope grooves to the tail-waggling delight of the lingering party goers. I laid there watching the contestant's mouths move. They don't have old people on television anymore. It was refreshing to see old and middle-aged normal-looking people on television. They seemed so genuine. They kept me mesmerized for a good half hour.
When I clicked through the channels I landed on MTV. I counted. No video sequence lasted more than three seconds, and some were only a second long. The favorite transition between each sequence was a quick white flash. There were no old people. There were no genuine smiles and gestures. There was only young flair and that familiar epileptic flash. This is what has become of our culture?
I imagine hell will be like that.