one of those nights…

You know, its amazing how you can make a mistake and kick yourself about it and then you tell yourself that you cann’t really make that mistake ever again in your life and then when the time comes, you just go ahead and do it all over again. It doesn’t really end there, you continue to go on that way for the rest of your miserable life. Oh heck, I’ll just tell you the whole story.

Lately, I’ve been hitting the books real hard, finishing one assignment after the other. I’ve been a good boy you see, not indulging myself with little pleasures, watching my money, going to bed in time…yep! Its all true. But how long can you actually carry that act on anyway? So after two weeks of hardship, I decided that its time for a little time out. So, I got a hand in due – FUCK that I’m going to that party and I’m gonna get myself good and drunk.

So I kept my end. I went, I drank and I was feeling fucking good. Met some new people too, like V – the Italian girl (a hottie no less) then that Swedish girl and the two guys going after her. And then there was the Lebanese guy at the hot dog counter. We had a very brief talk about Kahlil Gibran. It was a pretty good night. By the time we missed the last train, I had downed god knows how many and at the top of my game.

Now heres the real part. On our way back, in the bus, I was talking crap with the Raphael and Guillaume as usual. Raph had a small crush on a Chinese chick and we were sort of making a 3rd rated soap outta it. Anyhow, none of us really noticed when this Swedish chick came over and sat next to me. I said something to Raphael and that somehow made her laugh. (I’d laugh too if I was sober and heard a guy shitting on like that). So then I look at her and ..wooow! She says she is sorry, she shouldn’t have listened in and so on. I tell her not to worry, she is more than welcome if she wants to join in the soap opera and then God knows how, it was just the two of us talking away about all sorts of crap there is, she could tell it was red wine and I could tell that she is 23 and then we were singing crystal ship and feast of friends and what not, together. A Jim Morrison fan as it turns out. She told me how she found his biography on a park bench a few days back and how she misses the sun in the winter and I asked her about her cute little nose ring (honest to god, this is the first time I liked those on someone). And just like that the time went by and then she grew restless. She kept on telling me that she needs to get off soon. She said that about 3 times before it got through to this peanut brain of mine. I asked for her number in the last moment and heck! My phone isn’t working. She is going like “come on! Hurry up!” and I don’t have a clue. Guillaume, got his cell out and gave it to her. She typed her number in just in time before she got out.

So its all good. Eh? NOT REALLY! It turns out in the hurry, she left out a digit or something! Messages don’t go through!

She was pretty, and neat, and kind and when she talked, you could tell there is a brain behind those pretty little eyes.

And by the way, I don’t remember her name. I remember the Italian chick’s name, but I don’t remember the important one. Beshhhh…

Guillaume seemed actually more devastated than me. He was trying to console me all the way through the ice and cold and extreme bladder pressure…I didn’t know what to feel really, there was the red wine in the system, the snowy road, her voice in my head…just too many things to process.

One of these days…one of these nights…sigh…