welcome to the story.

The cool air inside and the warm, humid air outside caused the windows to fog. But I didn't care. I was preoccupied with a tall, dark man. Not in an attraction kind of way for I am one of those boys who likes girls. But this guy had some "flavor" about him. You could just tell he was on top of the world. If I could guess his name, I'd pick The Jamaican Rustic Fancy Man. In nice pants and shirt, he sat down across from me and began to write as even I am writing now. Will he write about me? I've always wanted to be someone's subject, either to study or write about or even read about. Perhaps tonight will be my night in that regard. But his dreaded hair hung down in his face as he wrote on both paper and laptop - which I thought was unique at the very least - while he drank. The jazz played in the background, but it is what I call "Christmas jazz". The kind that sounds like it should only be played during the holidays. And it just seemed out of place. Perhaps like The Jamaican Rustic Fancy Man, out of place but perfectly at home for the moment. Maybe a nice eclectic, folk mix would have suited my fancy better. But my hands were tied and my ears bound to the Christmas jazz that filled the room. Then two girls who I wish wouldn't have come in . . . came in. Wait . . . three girls and their dad. Oh the humanity. There's nothing like small talk with odd people. I'm sure they think the same about me so it all evens out. Then the guy in the corner who I can't decide whether or not he's Mexican or Russian. Maybe Portugese. Regardless he keeps repeating himself over and over again on the phone. As if everyone has waited all night to listen to his thick Mexi-Russy-Porty accent shout redundant phrases. But at least he has a cell phone right? Some people don't even have that. But on the race to the door he tripped his "lady friend" who I think we all perceived to be his mistress. And everyone at least laughed on the inside, if not out loud. And that was what my pen brought me that night. All in all a good night for the sandal wearing lovers in the middle of the room who no one noticed but me and their drinks.