(Note: I found this on my phone last night.  I must have written it last week after a few drinks and somehow forgotten about it.  Good times.)

She was wearing cowboy boots and drinking tequila. Neat. 

“Can we just pretend that I had the most awesome pick up line ever and you’ve agreed to let me buy you a drink?”

“No.”

“That sucks. Wanna buy me one to help drown my sorrow?”

She waved to the bartender and before I knew it there were two glasses of anejo something or other in front of us. She pushed mine towards me without so much as a smile. 

“Drink. It’ll make it easier.”

“It’ll make what easier?”

“My horrible rejection of you.”

“Ah, I assumed you meant my inevitable falling in love with your boots.”

“Back off. They’re mine.”

“I’d fight you over them, but I already know they’re going to text me once you’ve passed out.”

“It’ll be a cold day in New York before I pass out from tequila.”

“It’s supposed to be 45 tonight.”

“Fuck you.”

I swallowed my drink and stood up. I leaned in close and whispered at her feet. 

“Call me when you get cold.”

Guy New York