As coherently as possible I suggested we leave together and get out before it ended, to avoid the exiting crush.
(And to get away from any competition - a thought I kept to myself.)
He concurred with a nod and a sly grin, escorting me off the dancefloor, ginormous arm over my shoulder.
We kind of glided through the domain in a drug-filtered haze, past smirking policemen and other wandering party-goers.
There was not a lot of conversation, the power of speech having been evaporated by our various party favours.
However the energy to walk forever was still with us, and despite my preference for going to my place (much closer) he insisted on going to his.
So we swayed our way to Darlinghurst.
So we swayed our way to Darlinghurst.
Stopped on the way at a 7 / 11 where he bought 3 protein bars and a carb drink.
His body was amazing.
Even though, under convenience store lighting, it was almost purple.
And the veins – poppin’ out like he was wearing a crocheted body stocking.
Hmm steroids?
The face was great though.
Purpleness seemed to stop at his jaw, which appeared to have melted into his mountainous neck.
But he had that whole Italiany thing goin’ on.
Thick black eyebrows.
A great thatch of black hair.
All that product. Mmmm.
Took him 17 seconds to eat all 3 protein bars and scull the carb drink. Getting up his energy, I thought.
He was wearing one of those almost-singlets that only just covers the nipples as long as the air is completely still, and ridiculously short shorts.
Felt like a real cliché.
All eyes were on him.
Everyone is curious about going there.
But very few admit it.
No comments:
Post a Comment