Lydia Love

Hand in hand, we walked in Lydias. It is a hipster bar. Local top 40's are banished, as with any sense of color co-ordination. Piercings, excessive unshaven faces, and tight pants on men are a must to walk in.

Vlado was wearing his Bench jacket. Instant suicide mission.
I was wearing jeans, black boots, and a white off-the-shoulder t-shirt with a necklace. Plus, I had make up on. We felt out of place. The musician at the front croned off pitch as if she was making love to the microphone. Beers were in the air helping the patrons to realize what a hot mess she really was.

Vlado and I became more obnoxious the more we stood there, awkwardly. We had the courage of liquid fire to face our crowd of Wheres Waldo. Within moments, we were jumping up and down dancing, laughing, whistling at the end of the song. Vlado pushed it to the limit by screaming out, "THANK GOD ITS OVER!" while I ducked into the sea of braids on men to hide, leaving him to fend for himself.

As the liquid fell into our tummies, we began connecting more to the bar and the people. We were enjoying ourselves, the music was on mute in our brains. The people were like angelic artistics and I never wanted to shave my armpits again.
...K. Not that far.

But they definately became wall-flowers and my friends were the only ones I could see. We laughed against the drama, danced together, and just blended into a fun group of friendship.
Then, this musician came, similar to Ben Harpers sexual seduction that is known as, "Forever", and Vlado and I were emo and madly in love on the dance floor. God, I love alcohol.

The night ended after we met for a late snack of dry ribs, followed by an outrageous cab driver who speeded through the community zones at 100 miles per hour. Safely tucked into our bed at four am, It began. The Audrey drunk talk. Its unstoppable. I just talk and talk and talk. I laugh, giggle, play. After an hour, Vlado is PLEADING with me to just shut up and go to bed.

Good game, my Sir, good game.