In a Building, Largely

Well, there was plenty of free food at the next day’s open studios afterparty. And this time, no shame. About the food, anyway.

Okay, maybe a little.

But not that much. Not with the old ladies goin’ at it like they did.

I swear, this was the OLDEST crowd for a theoretically hip, warehouse district event I had ever seen. And most of them were regular old people. Only a couple were starkly wigged or brazenly bad-dancing.

Not what I expected when the attractive woman in the storefront gallery told me she was going. That’s why I went, really. I didn’t know about the food. I simply hoped to run into her again. But after second helpings, she still hadn’t showed.

So, I left.

And passed her crew heading toward the event as I edged ever closer to the Prince Walushka Bridge and home.

What could I do? I headed back.

But I couldn’t just start talking. It would be like I’d followed them back (which I had). I needed to just kind of be there again. Casually.

So, I waited for casualness to set in. And while I did I realized she looked like maybe she was hooked up with someone. All of them did.

On top of that, I found I couldn’t come close to mustering an encounter without my insecure posture rearing its discomfiting head (yes, posture has a head … but no toes).

So, I left again.

And, you know, the walk home did me good.

As I felt fat.


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