Fragments of a night out

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spy museum

I drifted in and out of sleep from about 3:30 a.m. til the phone rang at 10:00 a.m. It was Casey, my best friend.

“You were in rare form last night.”

“Well good morning to you too.”

“You grabbed some guy on the sidewalk and dragged him to the Irish Channel.”

“WHAT?!!?!!”

“Don’t you remember?”

<MALA groans into pillow and tries to disentangle self from sheets>

“Wait – we met him at DC Chophouse.”

“We weren’t at the Chopper.”

“Oh yeah… we were. We went there after Poste. And then it all gets a little hazy.”

“Well, you met that guy Daniel on the street.”

“HOW did I just meet some guy on the sidewalk?”

“Not sure… he came out of the MCI Center…. some game.”

“Did I give him my number?”

“Uhhhhhh… yeah you did – Hahaha – but you wrote it down with the spy pen.”

“Invisible ink? And he didn’t notice?”

“You folded the napkin into a tiny square and we ditched him before we got to Fado.”

<Groans loudly as memories from Fado flood murky mind>

“Your brother’s friends were all there.”

“Oh yeah.”

“We acted like asses.”

“We went dancing at midnight.”

<GASPS>

“I blame it all on those martinis at Zola.”

“Right. So. What’s on deck for tonight?”

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