I watched the USA get into the knockout round by the skin of its teeth. Losing a match to Germany that Germany controlled pretty much from the start. Living here in Germany, it was kind of like being a Red Sox fan with seats on the first base line at Yankee Stadium, suffice it to say the Germans are not going for the USA! USA! chants.
And since its Friday-and the S.O. is dragging me to the mother of all Flea Markets at Lake Konstanz tomorrow. It’s time to drink beer and wish I was someplace else, like Thailand. Living out one of Bruce’s many stories.
Noo came right up to Bruce and put her arms around his neck and looked up. A very sad, what-have-I-done face, a look somewhere between feigned apology and feigned pity, a look that said I thought you were one of the ones who wouldn’t fall in love, who only pretend to believe when I pretended to like you, but I was wrong (Beware The Ro3!), and she asked him to buy her a rum shooter. Pathetically, he nodded and indicated he would also have a beer he didn’t want or need, and, here’s the kicker, he said again, I just came back to say goodbye.
I’m going back to Hong Kong tomorrow, he said and she looked even sadder as she saw 3000Baht slipping away with more plastic surgery and her boyfriend’s motorbike repairs held off in the distance still, and she pouted her lower lip. Which must have done something inside her mouth because she slowly unwound her hands from his neck to tighten the stud in her tongue and she smiled, against the flow of Little Miss All-Forlorn, as she did this. But his confused mind was made up, probably, and he would leave now, now that all his dignity was shredded and burnt in offerings at the bar’s small shrine. He took his beer, drank most of the bitter razor-blades quickly, called for the check-bin, paid, then placed a 100baht note tenderly into her bra, making sure it was right against the nipple (he wondered later if those firm breasts were genuine, or part of a job-lot with the silicone nose-bridge she was so proud of), and he kissed her cheek again (it struck him that she hadn’t kissed him properly – only pecks – on the lips in all their time together) and somehow, not through courage, not through reason, almost accidentally, he managed to leave.
Sigh. Flea Markets. FML!
And now for the real purpose of this post-beer and babes! It is Friday you know.
