Chicago (V)

You arrive at McDonalds a few minutes later not knowing what to think. Strange how this girl has been dumping her emotional baggage on you, a guy she really, really doesn't know. You don't really care about her problems. Yeah, she's got some. But they aren't yours.

Still, she's young. And cute. And generally cool. Too scenester though. She's a city girl at least. The worst are the faux-scenester suburbanite girls. At least Ava, Dragon Girl, lives in the West Loop and isn't some random from Glennview or Arlington Heights.

Truth is city dwellers don't even hit most the "cool", if such a word is really applicable in the Midwest, places on weekends. The weeknight crowd is local. Tuesdays. Thursdays. The weekends are another story. Tools who are going to the city 'to hit the club.' Not that you have any idea on how you close on a girl when you tell her that your place is 45 minutes by train away. Guess their solution is never fucking closing.

Back to Ava. She's a few steps ahead of you approaching the doors. The bright indoor lighting pours out striking her red silhouette against the dark night. Glowing. Fuck you with that sarcastic Kodak moment bullshit. It's striking. For real. And somewhat ridiculous. She was extremely overdressed for the club. Her going into McDonalds is like a wedding dress at a boxing match. Doesn't figure.

Her phone rings. She's carried it in her hand all night. Obviously, has nowhere else to put it. Oddly, you do the same. But it's more nervous habit than anything else. She answers.

She turns away from the illuminated entrance. It's obviously not a good phone call.

"I'm really sorry."

You just look at her.

"I have to go -- my friend was just in an accident. I'm so sorry." She's genuine. You think.

You play chivalrous. Who the fuck are you really kidding? "Can I help? Where do you need to go?"

She declines but asks for your phone. She dials her own number. It takes her awkwardly long to do.

Nobody gives out numbers anymore. It's all self dialing. You miss when a girl would give you a piece of paper or write her number on your hand. You've had girls recently give you business cards even. Not those types of girls.

It literally takes more than thirty seconds for her to figure out how to enter her number. You watch her silently unable to think of anything to say. You go with, "Well we made it here. Next time we'll make it inside."

It was supposed to be silly, but it came off sounding pretty asshole. She laughs it off and says a rushed goodbye before disappearing off leaving you holding your phone with her number dialed staring at the McDonalds entrance.

After staring blankly at the entrance and cursing your karma, you begin the walk back to the club. You aren't exactly ready to face your friends and the bullshit that is Martini Park yet, however. You decide to walk off the recent events and take a scenic route back to the club.

As you're walking, out of nowhere, "Yo, looking for some nose candy?"

Who the fuck says 'nose candy'? Seriously, what the fuck. Whatever happened to asking, "Hey, do you ski?"

This dealer is a walking cliche. Camo Yankees cap. Hideous Bape Camo hoodie. Baggy jeans. Air Force Ones. Short. Black. Grungy. Looks high off the supply. Eyes are totally glassed.

You ignore him and keep walking.

Except that you don't. You walk up to him. "What's good?"