Dara

This afternoon I decided to walk over to The Last Record Store and see if any new punk or industrial stuff had come in during the past couple of weeks. I needed something new to listen to. I'd played everything else I had picked up recently into the ground.

On the way to the record shop I saw this hot, gothic babe riding a bicycle towards me. I am hopelessly attracted to deathrock chicks. Always have been. This one was wearing a velvet burgundy dress and she had black boots laced all the way up to her knees. Her hair was in long tight braids that included a few brightly colored extensions. Her skin was ghostly white. So beautiful. As she was about to pass by me she stopped and smiled. She asked me what my name was. When I responded, she smiled again and told me she used to be close friends with my younger sister and said her name was Dara. I didn't recognize her right away because she looked completely different from the way she did back in high school. How could I forget Dara? I always had a thing for her. Hell, every guy did. She was one of the most goregous girls out of the whole damn school.

We yapped about what each of us had been up to over the years that passed by and asked about family stuff. You know, the usual pleasantries. All I wanted was her phone number. I figured we could make small talk later on some evening after we'd both had numerous drinks in us. I'm no player, in fact quite the contrary. I'm a total chump when it comes to trying to finesse the ladies. I never know what to say to them. It's like if you're interested in a girl you have to play a stupid fucking game with them. I hate games, but more often than not it seems that's the only way females operate. You have to give off this total give-a-fuck attitude the whole time. I can't do it. Generally when I'm trying to chat one of them up, I crash and burn like a WWII Japanese pilot. For example, if I try to innocently compliment a woman on her looks, specifically the way she's dressed or her attractive features, I get written off as being creepy. Being spur of the moment clever and witty isn't my bag, either. When I go that route stupid shit comes out of my mouth and then I'm dismissed for being a dimwit, or worse. Luckily I didn't get too nervous or weird on this occassion. On the inside I was rapidly becoming a wreck though. I think I did a pretty good job concealing that fact from her.

Dara said she had to get going, but before we parted ways I somehow managed to get her number. Whew. I watched her peddle on down the road and disappear.

This could be interesting.