While clearing out some of the old messages in the 'Outbox' of my phone a few days ago, I happened upon this one. As I recall, I sent it from The Den at the beginning of last year (back in the days when I would deign to go there, occasionally) to one of the guys (The Choirboy, probably) who was keeping me waiting. Lonely and miserable (I was about to fly back to the UK for a family funeral), pissed off at my buddies for leaving me on my own in such a dive, and frankly rather intimidated by the Russian working girls who were out in force that night, I wrote:
"The hookers are all ignoring me. I imagine they shrewdly judge that I have neither the wallet nor the penis to satisfy them. I am relieved, and at the same time profoundly depressed."
Alcohol gives us these moments of clarity from time to time.
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