exposed cerebral cortex of a proletariat bike slut

anyway.

new york.

story number 1.

I had been wandering around for an hour in Harlem looking for my hostel, when I finally gave up and walked into a random one that I happened by.  All the rooms were filled, I was again out of luck. 

Brian overheard me talking about how I couldn’t find my hostel, and volunteered to look it up and carry my bags there for me.  Hot and tired, I was game.  He turned out to be part charming and smart, part creeper, so I said yes to drinks later to decide.

Inside the hostel, the owner was passed out on a bed.  Hungover, possibly still drunk from a night of partying.

An interesting conversation and off-broadway later, I was in the top floor of the brownstone taking a shower in his luxurious bathroom.  I could not be happier…done with the conference, cool water rushing over my dewy skin (new york in august = terrible idea. humidity was through the roof), letting his redken (metro, much?) soak into my thirsty hair.  I toweled off in an oversized, doughy egyptian cotton and slowly started putting mascara.  After the steam had lifted off the mirrors, I slipped into my short skirt and red heels.  Merengue requires minimal clothing, especially in Spanish harlem. 

He fought with the cab driver on the way there, acting like a complete idiot.  The driver was trying to cheat him out of $4, and since he was a native new yorker he decided he was going to have none of it.  I gritted my teeth and glared out he window as the two imbecile men argued over the fare, waiting to arrive at…I had no idea where the fuck we were going, actually.

The club was El Morocco, and they frisked us both at the door.  Once inside, everyone spoke spanish and an air of sex hung salaciously in the air.  I tried to learn to merengue, but as I am possibly the most uncoordinated dancer imaginable, I ended up slipping on my heel and landing on my ass.

four or five drinks in he started trying to kiss me and feel up my ass, which I was having none of.  Although I was quite drunk, he was still quite unattractive, brownstone or not.  I ended up leaving the club, and ended the night back at the hostel. Alone.