Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Spadina streetcar, drained.

Caucasian male, late 20s, very pale, wearing black warf jacket, dark blue jeans, black baseball cap, and silver link watch.

Generation of Swine: Tales of Shame and Degradation in the '80's , Hunter S. Thompson (Simon & Schuster)

Page 15:

They know me here. When I came back last night I saw the hotel bell captain standing out in the middle of Post Street in a sleazy black kimono, jabbering blankly at oncoming I stomped on the gas and swerved left at him, just to test the basic reflexes.
He's a rugged guy, always has been. His roommates rib him about his books, how he manages to read over the volume of the television kept loud to hear the game in every room. What is he, gay? He resolved to loosen up, coming back from the holiday break, his curly locks shorn into a close cut, his glasses replaced by contacts, and agreeing to step in as a blind date for a house party that invited half the women from their year. He did the shots, drained the keg, and, until just now, when he felt the blood drain from his face, forgot that there'd been another man in the room.

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