Same partner in crime wanted me to relate my equation for a friend. He said it just like that, except he was drooling drunk, "hey spanky, describe to me your equation for a friend." I skirted the issue. This particular segment of my social circle has been trying to figure me out. Don't need friend's draped in therapist capes. Some confrontational drama has occurred from my unwillingness to share. I adopt my whatever face and bounce on these occasions.

Correct I am an asshole. Well, earlier that night there was guff with the chick who went to a holding pen after I passed the pipe to her on the streets of sweet sweet Manhattan's Lower East Side. Yes, I attempted a few calls that evening to surmise her status. Consensus was I hold fort at Whiskey Ward. Interactions with cops, particularily ones where a sliver of time would have put me in the pig's clutches, unnerves me some. So I swabbed the deck with vodka. And how. Quickly I was nicely buzzed, and out the door to the friendly arms of Valerie the reigning bartender amazon queen supreme at Doc Holliday's. Thus initiated the night I was the blacked out superheroic beneficial to humanity drunk as recanted a couple entries ago. As well as initiated my asshole status.

Didn't call within the next three days to check in on her. Decided in my brain that she had been released that evening, no need to confirm it. Hangin with the crew they inform me I should apologise to her. Yeah.

After prodding from the crew, I called her on a borrowed cell, actually her brother's cell, while waiting to shoot pool at Lucy's.

Me - "Hey G----, it's me."

G - "Oh hi, so what's up?"

Me - "Apparently I was an asshole."

G - "Well, I was just upset that I went to jail, and no one called me."

Me - "Uh huh, yeah."

G - "So, I'm busy maybe I'll see you later."

Me - "Later." Click.

So we show up at her crib later. Her brother invades her stash and the bong makes several stops at station spanky. Interesting vibes of giggly hilarity and unresolved tension. Directly after the homie suggested the basement of my boom boom poem she rails into him. The lock up night after she was released around four in the morning, she comes home to find him and another feminine part of the social circle sleeping in her bed. This upset her. I get corralled into the same asshole category because of it. She announces that she is leaving for Smithfield with the tone of "you slacker muthafuckas better show your sorry asses up there if you want the wrath of G to end.", and out the door she goes with her friend in tow.

On the way there I decide I must visit a couple ladies. Tell the two kids I'll see them there soon. Quizzical looks. I make an exit stage left.

Cute bartender chick that I have recently met was working that night at The Library. She wanted fliers to my improv show. The night I met her she flirted with me while licking an ice cream cone. At one point she decided to sit on the bar where I was drinking, looking at me with fuck me eyes, and took the ice cream in and out of her mouth. Even without intentionally licking a popsicle, banana or ice cream cone in a salacious manner, I imagine my cock sliding up in there. So yeah, I decided to visit her. The flirt continues. I am hunting this one.

Whiffs of her scent on me, still high and now full of cutely poured drinks, I arrive at Smithfield some minutes before last call. Walk up to G and plant a kiss on her, order a drink and found an empty spot at the bar. Out of the twenty people that were there, I think there might have been two that didn't want to take a chunk out of me. Planted my ass on a stool, and ordered a stream of Stoli. If they didn't know yet, a beaming vision of clarity shined upon all that I don't give a fuck. We'll see where this leads.