PART ONE c – The Third Date

  "I love your tan."

  "Really? I'm actually not as dark as I can get. Daddy? Makes a few jokes about how dark I get in the summer, when I was working on the farm as a kid. Mom yells at him."

  "I'm afraid to ask…"

  "Well. We're Italian. Which makes me Italian. Which makes me dark in the summer, if I'm in the sun all day from sunup to sundown for a couple weeks. Daddy makes a joke, if he's not in mixed company. Makes mom mad, but…"

  "I don't get it."

  "Okay. If someone says something like… which one is your daughter, the blonde one, or… Daddy thinks its funny to say… No, the dark one. My wife fucked a trigger, I think, you can see how dark she came out…"

  "Oh my god…"

  "Yeah. I get pretty dark. I'm pretty sure, Daddy doesn't say trigger, he says…"

  "I get it, I get it."

  "So. How do I look. For a porker, I mean."

  "You look, like you should be in the Olympics. I wasn't kidding. I'm… just…"

  "Thank you. That's very sweet of you to say, but… I'm just not good enough."

  "But, you're a starter. As a freshman. At a big school. Surely you have a chance, to…"

  "Its not realistic. What is realistic, though, is for me to stay in shape and keep starting. I'm getting a free degree. Schorship. Now, because I start? The little perk you get for being a starter, at this school… is a free townhouse apartment. In the vilge."

  "You live in the vilge?"

  "Yeah. If you start? Free townhouse apartment. The basic schorship, is free tuition, and free books and free fees. Naturally, room and board. Because I'm an athlete? I get free summer break everything. You know, you have to pay for summer gym and swimming pass? Its to encourage us sports students to stay in shape."

  "Why, didn't you mention you live with the rich kids?"

  "The rich kids, as you call them? Make fun of the athletes that start and get free townhouse apartments. They have a few choice names for us. None of which, I'll ever hear to my face, I doubt. Little rich girly girls? Really don't like it when I get in their face."

  "Not sure I wanna tangle with you…"

  "Do… you want me to put my clothes back on? I figured you might get tired of looking at me, off season porker that I am right now and all. A farm slut, one vilge rich girl called me once."

  "To your face?"

  "Just that once. It didn't happen a second time."

  "Why?"

  "I think she saw me in my jeans, my ripped up favorite fnnel work shirt, boots, big cowboy buckle… I heard the words, farm slut come out of her mouth. This, from a blowjob queen."

  "Oh gee. I guess you decked her. Little girly girl, right?"

  "Little shit didn't come up to my tits. My wrists are bigger than her thighs. Half her diet is coke and cock."

  "Did you smack her around, huh? I'd pay money to see you smack a little girl around, then beat off to the cell phone video."

  "I have to watch my schorship. I picked her up, and held her against the wall. She has these scrawny little arms, can't reach my face, and her little legs are kicking off the ground. I held her there, and wouldn't put her down for a while. I told her I'd smack the taste right out of her mouth, if I heard it again. She started to say something about her boyfriend, and two of my team mates came over. Really more to rescue her, than to gang up on her, but she doesn't know that. They were ughing at her, said we'd kick the shit out of him too. He ain't no bigger than her, and he's all mouth with a daddy's sports car."

  "I guess the boyfriend never…"

  "Ah. She's pointing at us one day, week or two ter. He's standing there, acting tough. Which is fucking hysterical, if you ever saw him. See, that was her big mistake. If I hit another girl and hurt her, get arrested… I could be in big trouble. But… a boy? We all started giving him shit. I'm walking around that day, with a couple girls all look like me. You gotta understand, this little girl I'm talking about. She's like 5 foot tall, looks honest to god no exaggeration, every bit of maybe 70 or 75 pounds soaking wet, and that's with the cock in her mouth. The boyfriend? He's, like… 5'3", if that. Looks about 98 pounds, and that's with the cock in his ass. I take a shit bigger than that, in the off season."

  "Hun, I'm just… what the fuck. Why are you even on the market. There has to be something…"

  "What are you saying?"

  "Its just a phrase."

  "Finish, the phrase. There has to be something…"

  "Let me rephrase it, then."

  "No. I want you to finish it. I'm going to start counting. Where are we even at with you, anyways. Was it 70?"

  "You said you were the accounting major tonight. 70 sounds about right…"

  "If I count to three?"

  "I know, I know. It goes to 80."

  "One…"

  "Honey, its just a phrase."

  "Okay. So finish it. Now. Two…"

  "It, sounds worse than it really is, its a compliment, really, when you sit back and think ab---"

  "Did I ask you for an expnation? No. I told you, to finish the phrase. Th---"

  "Wrong with you."

  "Uh huh. I know what you were just about to say. I started to say three. 80. There, its done. No… you're done. You started off with 40, now its like you were trying your best, to double it. Congratutions. Now that you already paid for it? Its on your tab. You might think this is funny right now. I don't think its going to be so funny, ter on. Repeat after me, would you?"

  "I? Will do anything you say… you have no idea…"

  "We'll see about that. But that's ter. Since you already paid for the words, you just said, oh go on. You? Repeat it to me. Go on."

  "Why are you on the market, there just has to be… something wrong with you."

  "All right. What's wrong with me."

  "Nothing. Its a phrase. Its a compliment, really. I'm… looking at… some Olympics girl, some kind of… Greek statue… why aren't there guys up your ass."

  "Well. If you'd quit trying to piss me off, we were talking about you being up my ass. Tomorrow. Maybe. Do you wanna know what's… wrong with me?"

  "I honestly can't see any guy, not lining up to…"

  "Let's do the numbers. I'm an amazon. Simple fact. Right?"

  "I love that… you, are like… my dream girl…"

  "Thank you. But. I'm an amazon. How many guys do you see with a girlfriend, taller than they are. Seriously."

  "Not that many, I guess."

  "Its rare. Do you know how many guys in the popution are as tall or taller than me?"

  "I honestly don't…"

  "Less than 10 percent. Right off the bat, 90 percent of the men? I'm off their radar. Now. Out of the 10 percent, that are taller than me, its less than 10 percent, just rounding off, but… did you know, that most tall guys, prefer short girls?"

  "I mean…"

  "Its a fact. It seems like, the smaller a girl is, it makes the guy look bigger. Some shit. Now, out of less than 10 percent of the male popution, only a certain percentage of what's left? Is even in my age bracket. Less of a pool for me. We gotta take away guys that are retarded. Guys that are useless. Criminals. Druggies. I don't like… typical macho jerks and assholes? And they're some of the worst amazon haters out there. I mean I'm willing to try to compromise, but… I don't like complete dorks. Sissies. Hell, 2 percent of the male popution sucks dick, so… there's another chunk gone. Then, god himself help me, I make it worse. I'm getting good grades here. Its a good degree, I'm not majoring in basket weaving, you know… fuck me, but I'd like a guy with half a brain and an education, like me… I'm telling you. Its slim fucking pickings for me. And I got the other girls to compete with. For what's even left. I won't sleep around, just to have someone around for a couple nights, I'm not starting that shit. I want a guy with some… scruples, morals, something like that. There ain't shit left."

  "Honey, there has to be some kind of… demographic…"

  "Yeah. There's weirdos, that are into amazons. I don't mean a guy like you, I mean… you are aware, there are guys into… circus midgets… 500 pound nd whales… like that. So no, I'm not a goddamn circus freak. Now. Lets just shave off, the st guy on earth that might like me, that I might even be remotely interested in? What is my…"

  "Oh. What do you call that? Your… sexual hobby… your sexual preference… "

  "Whatever we call it. When you look at people that do what we're into. More numbers against me. Most of the people that are into that, in a regur retionship… you are aware that its usually the guy, that swats the girl."

  "I guess."

  "Now. Remember I don't wanna be… the circus midget girlfriend? There's two kinds of people that share our… taste buds for that. Some of them are regur couples. Boyfriend and girlfriend, they just happen to have a taste for… adventure in the bedroom. But. There's a big chunk that… the adventure comes first, the retionship comes second. And… this, free for all orgy shit, you see on the goddamn internet. The… community of…"

  "Will I go to 90, if I say perverts?"

  "No. I refuse to hunt. Which is what I would call someone that goes out, just looking for… fun with no strings. They go home to the partner who's… they call it vanil. I want a retionship. A normal one. Not a goddamned circus act on the weekends and holidays."

  "You really like me?"

  "I want you to look at me, and tell me if you like my body or not. You seem to."

  "Am I in more trouble, if I say you look like some kind of… Greek goddess, or some shit?"

  "I know you don't mean that bad. You don't get in trouble for that one."

  "I'm not trying to be rude. How is calling you a Greek goddess, how can that possibly be construed to be a bad thing. If I would of said a guy looked like a Greek god? He's jacked. How could that possibly be bad to say to you. You're an athlete for gods sake."

  "Wow. You just made me feel… that was very sweet, and you don't even know it."

  "Holy shit, I accidentally said something right. Please tell me what it was, so I can gloat. And memorize it. And tell you once in a while, to try to get out of trouble."

  I smiled.

  "Remember I said I refuse to be some kind of… circus midget girlfriend, a circus freak?"

  "Yeah. I don't want you to be my circus freak. Just saying."

  "Well… the guys that, not you. You just like tall, strong girls. But, there's a fetish out there. You know, instead of circus midgets, they like… amazons. Their word for us? Is goddess. I know you mean it good though. Also, goddess, is sng for… a professional dominatrix."

  "Um. How much trouble am I in, if I point out the obvious joke here. Come on. You have to ugh at this a little bit with me. Come on. A sense of humor can get you through anything."

  I sighed. A big long one.

  "I know. I have a whip and a rope in the trunk. I already showed you, twice, I like using it on a boy. Gets me wet. I'd be pissed if someone wanted me to be a dominatrix. I… get the joke."

  "That's good."

  "Honey. I know you like me. I think so anyways. Did you ever look around you, and see a girl, I don't know. A girl like me? And you wonder why the husband is some… out of shape, ex football pyer washed up has been. Drunk, stupid, foul mouthed, fat hairy fuck… and he's walking around with a girl looks like me, graduated college 10 years ago? I bet you'd look and go… what the ever loving fuck, why does that piece of shit, get her. How am I doing here."

  "Couple times, yeah."

  "Well? Now you know how it happens. You wanna know what my competition is?"

  "The rest of the girls here on the teams, you told me…"

  "If you go and look back, you made jokes, you watched the women's Olympics? You… like looking, right?"

  "They're like pinup girls to me, hun…"

  "Yeah, well. If you go and track them down, after the Olympics are over with? You'll find them married, almost every one of them. To some… fat, hairy, disgusting creepy rich guy. Money? Is… a lot of women find it attractive. Women like me? Even better ones… the pickings are slim."

  "Let's say I believe you. Let me finish, before you go off… please? Indulge me."

  "This better go somewhere nice, and get there fucking quick. I'll tell you a secret you need to know, in a minute or two. Go on."

  "On your theory. If the pickings for you tall, strong girls are so slim… why did I basically chase one sporty girl here at this university, after another. Like a goddamn puppy dog, trying like hell to nd one. I can't get the time of day. Now. I'm not saying there's any issue with you, but how do you suddenly jump on me. I am ever so slowly, learning to watch my words. I was about to say… what was your issue, but… better way to phrase it. What the fuck am I missing, in this whole picture. Slim pickings. I can't get the time of day. I stand on my head trying, I gave up. Here, you come running. Is it some kind of… women only like men that aren't trying, psychology trick shit? What am I not seeing here. Maybe you can fill in the bnks."

  I smiled.

  "Oh. That. I'm scared to tell you that."

  "What? Some rumor I'm gay floating around? I'm supposed to have AIDS? What shit am I up against here."

  "Nope. Not that. I'm actually afraid to tell you. I'm serious. If you insist, I will though. Then? You can go off, and cure the issue or two, that you don't know about. Then? Yeah. You can probably nd your pick of… look, you had a nickname among us… sports girls."

  "I can't wait."

  "The sng we use, is a cheerleader."

  "Who's calling me a faggot?"

  I smiled again, shook my head.

  "Not like that. The sng got to be, cheerleader. Here. To understand what the sng means… think… groupie. You know, the little girls that keep trying to follow rock stars and pro sports guys around? They can point at a groupie, and take them back stage, and they just run like a little puppy dog to get used."

  "Oh. I'm a groupie, of female athletes. So, I'm not worth the effort. A rock star can't brag about a groupie girlfriend, only a real girl. I'm the fucking groupie. Well, that's just fucking swell. Is there some guy, I can just knock his block off, and this shit stops?"

  "No. We… don't necessarily mind… cheerleaders, erm… groupies. Slim pickings. I was checking you out. For a while. I wouldn't call it stalking. If a girl is interested, we ask around…"

  "What did your detective work turn up."

  "I visited the computer department. Which is also the math department. Are you aware, you have some kind of reputation as a…"

  "A spastic geek?"

  "Computer nerd, same thing."

  "Yes. I'm aware. I'm proud of it. Its my fucking thing."

  "Well. You kind of stand out, in the computer department. I mean, there's a lot of…"

  "Spastic geeks. Say it. I'm proud of that shit."

  "Right. Now, you computer geeks. You guys kind of make fun of… football types, that… are trying to force feed themselves a computer degree, and ain't quite cutting it?"

  "Hey. If I go out for the football team? I get creamed by a 350 pound goril. The goril walks into my fucking world? Yeah. I'll light you up and piss you out. Programming a computer. Electrical Engineering? Is a hobby for me. That? Is my… sport. In my world? Yeah. I'm one of the 350 pound gorils, in a spastic geek sort of way. If that makes sense."

  "Right. Now, among the computer crowd, again you stand out, because… you really don't look like one of them. There are very few… tall, works out, the motorcycle…"

  "Are you trying to say, I'm not ugly?"

  "You're… you? Every girl has her type, and you're one of them. You got this… some girls check you out, then they find out you're a spastic geek? Its like chick repellent. In case you didn't know. And, the way one of the… computer nerds put it? When the computer nerds all get together? Computer nerds, call you a nerd."

  "Bitch. Fttery? Will get you everywhere. Yes!"

  "This makes you… happy?"

  "Fucking A right. You sports types. You got your big stars. One or two guys might actually turn pro. Make it, right?"

  "Sure."

  "This is my sport. I'm the 350 pound goril, in my sport. The nerds, call me a nerd? Yeah… I'm working on, not like anyone would know, or care… I'm working on the routines, I'm getting there. I'm designing my own programming nguage. Me. Alone. I got proof of concept working. Not a whole team at MIT or Cal Tech… just me. I'm writing my own programming nguage, designing my own compiler. All from scratch. Not some interpreted shit, a ground up thing. I might do it, I might pull it off. For me? That's like turning pro."

  "Well. If you wanna go? And get your pick of any of those girls that won't give you the time of day? That's how to fix it."

  "I'm going to run the risk, of going 90 here, or fuck it, let's go straight to 100. If none of the others want the… spastic geek, even though I'm technically a good enough looking guy, supposedly. Why are you so… desperate, you're willing to slum it with me, and get made fun of by the sporty girls, huh?"

  I made a huge sigh. A very slow, very deep, slow exhaling long one.

  "I accidentally found out the truth about you. By accident."

  "What truth? I'm not gay, I'm a geek, not a faggot. Slight difference there…"

  "Remember the party we met at?"

  "First date."

  "No, the party we just happened to bump into each other. This was a long time ago. We had a css together."

  "Vaguely. So?"

  "There was some football pyer, gave you the shits."

  "Yeah. I ignore that drunk bullshit when I can get out of it."

  "I know. It… doesn't enhance your…"

  "Oh. My what. My… bullshit tough guy score card?"

  "The other reputation, aside from the spastic geek thing, is you're supposed to be… not a fairy, but… you won't fight. You're a pushover. Any drunk guy can make you say you're a pussy. If you know what I mean."

  "Hun? You want that bullshit? You can go fuck a football pyer. Be my guest. Or… go date some… criminal with a record and a drug habit. Fuck that fake tough guy bullshit."

  "That's just it, though. That, is the other half of what… kills your… possibilities as a groupie."

  "Whatever. If I have to walk around and act like a meathead, when I have an IQ bigger than ten times my shoe size, and I don't have that small of feet, honestly… the whole campus can kiss my ass. I'm here to get an education, I want to be known for my programming, my electronics engineering designs. Fuck the world. I got bigger fish to fry, than getting into dick measuring contests, with drunken numb-nuts every weekend. Why? So some dip-shit girl, with the IQ of a rock, will go… oh my! I just love bad boys! Tee hee!"

  "Those are your two… issues. Now. Why do I want to slum it? I told you. I know your secret."

  "What's my secret then."

  I smiled.

  "That drunken football pyer. Yeah, he's an asshole. He was giving you the shits, I saw it. He made you say, yeah I'm a pussy… so you could get away from him. So he could look good."

  "I hope whatever dip-shit girl blew him for his contribution to humanity that night? Gave him herpes."

  "I just happen to know, that afterwards… you walked right up to him, tapped him on the shoulder. Off to the side. After he had his big… show he won, or whatever. You tapped him on the shoulder, and said something like… hey? Shits and giggles aside, I don't care if you wanna look like a big man. But… why don't you go… ask your friend, Bobby? Not his name, forget what the name was, but… I suggest you go over there and ask Bobby, if you should be fucking with me, dumbbell. They said you told him and you said it off to the side, so he could keep his game going, but if he really wanted to go somewhere privately, no one else around? Go ask your friend Bobby first, then report back. No talking in here, we both sneak off, no one around. No witnesses. Bet you won't do it."

  "I think you got some bum information. If I did that, to some goril? I'd get my shit pushed in."

  "Uh huh. The way I heard it, again, Bobby wasn't his name, but… apparently, the goril went over, and… he didn't come back over. They said he magically left you alone."

  "I still think you got some bum information, but…"

  "There's also a rumor going around, you were some kind of… commando or some shit. Weren't you in the service? Army, Marines, some shit like that."

  "Get that part straight, and check your leads, detective. It was the Air Force. I was a computer programmer there, for four years. Now, in case you didn't know? The Air Force gets made fun of, by the Army, the Navy, the Marines. They call us the… wait for it… the Chair Force. Yes, I was a computer programmer, in the branch that is… if the Marines have the tough guy reputation? The Chair Force, has the exact opposite reputation. So again, I'm not the tough guy. I'm a spastic geek. Get it right."

  I smiled.

  "I know my information, is somewhat correct."

  "Question. If the goril, supposedly, walks over to this Bobby guy, and they point at me? I love how conveniently there is no Bobby, you don't know the name, but… if this supposedly happened, would there not be some kind of… counter-rumor going around. That I was in fact, some secret tough guy, pretending to be a spastic geek? When yet in fact, you can go to my high school, and its a matter of public record, that I'm a spastic geek, through and through… and that I was known for being a pushover in school when I was a kid. Gods truth, its verifiable."

  I smiled once again.

  "That's what I heard. Magic of the internet, you know. Click, click, click. Hey, girl. You know this guy? Click, click, click."

  "So, I start life out as a spastic geek. Then, again a matter of public record. I go to the Chair Force, the wimpiest branch of all, mind you… and its verifiable, a computer programmer for them. To get college money. Now? Here I am, on campus. And once again, if you hit the computer department up? I'm not only a nerd, I'm the nerd's nerd… and I'm proud of that shit. I mean, do your… weren't you an accountant tonight, dear? Lets keep score. Growing up, 0 to 18. Spastic geek. Weird genius boy. Service? Chair Force, computer programmer. Again, the service's version of… spastic geek. Campus here, once again? Ask the entire computer and math, and the electronics department, by the way… spastic yet again. Your accounting is off. I am sorry to inform you, that your information, is provably false."

  I smiled again. It began to irritate him.

  "Okay. What's with the shit eating grin."

  "Interesting choice of words. Geek boy. Accounting. By my count? You, are what, wasn't it 80?"

  I'm still standing there naked. We're arguing like this, and its like I might as well have a fucking snowsuit on, for all he's noticing my body. Smiling the shit eating grin, I leaned in and whispered in his ear.

  "Wanna bet? Not only do I know your secret? I can prove it."

  "What's the bet?"

  "You're 80? Bet me another 20. That I can prove my cim, and you can't deny it."

  "Well. If its a bet? What do I get, if I win. Which I will, you already lost. I just wanna verify I win something, when I win, which I'm just about to."

  "20 off?"

  "That would be 60."

  "Congratutions. You can count."

  "Smart ass."

  "Thank you. I'm not a dumb jock. I do not major in basket weaving. I'll go 40. If you win, you're back to 40. Which is where you started out. But if I win? Your tab will be 100, and I intend to collect. And, I have a reason for that, too."

  "What's your proof."

  "Is it a bet?"

  "Sure. I might as well go from 80 to 40, in one fell swoop. Then? I can spend the rest of the night, getting back up in the accounting."

  "Why do you want the highest number possible? I don't get it."

  "Are you a spaz? Or a street smart jock. Which is it."

  "Mostly street smart jock, but… I don't major in basket weaving."

  "You like, what you like."

  "Yeah. I have… demonstrated what I like, on you. Twice I might add. And? I am going to enjoy demonstration number three."

  "If you make me…"

  "What. Cry?"

  "Yeah. Your twat gets wet, doesn't it? And for the record, bending you over the hood, and that soaking, dripping wet thing you called a twat? Oh my god… did that feel good."

  "Thank you, by the way. Your point?"

  "If… some love pats, birthday swats gets you hot and bothered."

  "Uh huh."

  "And twenty… medium? Gets you not only wet, but…"

  "Garden sprinkler, whatever."

  "Yeah. And you said, more is better, the more you…"

  "Uh huh."

  "Will it hurt to go through it? Maybe. Definitely. But… the end result, should be, according to my spastic geek calcutions…"

  "Mm. Yeah, I like yin. The more yin, the better. Does something for me. You? Unless you're pretending, and I don't think you are, by the way… you, like yang. And so far, the more yang the better. How are we not going to get along. I? for some reason, like to rob banks. You, for some reason, like to have your bank robbed, and your keep leaving the front door unlocked, the vault open, and waiting to get robbed. According to my, streetwise jock calcutions… you? Like a certain type of girl, and I'm it. I'm standing on a bnket in the middle of nowhere, naked mind you. Literally standing on my head for you. I'm just what I think you want, you… if I asked you, to kneel and kiss anywhere I pointed? I'm pretty sure you'd do it. And you'd like it. You are about this far, from getting tied up, and you know what's going to happen to you? And again, you like the idea. Then? I told you, I'm going to keep you tied up, and use you for a fuck toy. And I'm betting, you're going to love it."

  "Yet, you're about to go back to 40. What is this, impossible proof. I'm calling your bluff."

  "Where's my phone…"

  He handed it to me. I flicked through, flicked through… then handed it to him. I leaned in, again the shit eating grin. I whispered in his ear.

  "You? Are about to cry. Its going to take a while. I? Am going to enjoy, making you cry. Then, I'm going to use you, for a fuck toy. And you? Are going to be mine. Press py. Spastic geek boy."

  "This I gotta…"

  He noticed something, before he even pressed py.

  "Oh. I'm sorry. What's that oh shit look, I just saw cross over your face. Why, you look like someone just walked directly over your grave, little boy. Press py. Your ass is mine. Literally."

  I had to reach over, and press py for him.

  "Delete it if you want? Won't do you any good. I have copies. In the cloud. Where even geek boy probably can't get them. I'm settling this shit, right now."

  I already knew what the video was, and I already knew, that he knew what it was.

  "See. I just happen to know. By whatever way. That you used to sneak off to a pce known? As The Barn."

  "Bar. Ways off, down 40. Now, it used to be The Barn, name changed years ago, but a lot of locals and a few older guys, still call it that, even with the new name…"

  "Uh huh. I know that bullshit story, too. The bar exists, and that story is true. What's also true, there's a… well, its a barn, a big old one. And… my information is that its an unlicensed, private gym. Done up as a private club. Apparently, boxers… wrestlers… karate guys go there… supposedly some tough guys that are supposed to have killed people in the service go there… they work out, and once a week? Guys sign waivers, and they have… for legal purposes, a workout. But. People know, that while its actually a pce to work out, that much is true. Guys go there to fight."

  "Sounds like some kind of an urban legend, to be honest."

  "I heard, its brutal. Anything goes. Apparently, guys get hurt so much? You have to prove you have medical insurance, or they won't even let you join. No spectators allowed. Members only. Gentleman's agreement, is if you get your arm broke, or your leg broke. Or, more usually? Someone gets their face broken. I mean that literally, by the way. No one has ever sued. Not that they couldn't, they just don't. The waiver helps, but. No one wants their… reputation to be, that they were the guy that narc-ed. Someone drives you to the emergency room, and drops you off, that's what the proof of medical insurance is for. The guys wake up in the emergency room, their official story is they got hit by a vehicle, they fell down the stairs. Whatever. No one has ever admitted to how they got hurt. And even if they did, they were legally training, for fun, and an accident occurred."

  "I heard this bedtime story, in a bar once, honey… its an urban legend. Like… everyone and their uncle? Has heard about this supposedly famous whorehouse, two towns up the river. It simply, does not exist. This is no different."

  "Okay. I saw your face. You can drop the act, anytime. You? Have been caught. By? Moi."

  "You have a grainy video. Someone is… jerking a cell phone around. An old one, mind you, it looks like. I see, 2 guys… fighting, working out… whatever. This could be anywhere."

  "Really? Gimme the phone…"

  I leaned over, and simply swiped left, and the next video came up. I pressed py.

  "Better video quality. Less herk-y jerk-y. There's this one guy… standing here… does he look familiar?"

  "I don't know."

  "Uh huh… listen to the audio. Oh! They just announced, its The Barn's big fight night."

  "The Barn? Is an urban legend. Ask any cop, he'll tell you. I see, once again. Two guys… working out. Fighting… again, whatever. Just because some video cims to be… The Barn? Doesn't make it real."

  "And, that guy there. That one. He doesn't look familiar."

  "Is that your mysterious Bobby, who you don't know his real name? Great."

  "Uh huh. Care to up your bet? Go double or nothing, or what have you. Hmm?"

  "This is amusing, but…"

  "Yeah. Third video? You should find more interesting."

  I leaned over. Humming, being deliberately annoying. While I flicked left again, and brought up the third video.

  "Once again. Care to go double or nothing?"

  I pressed py for him. Somehow, he couldn't find the py button. Even though it was a gigantic triangur arrow, taking up the middle one third of the screen. I'm so helpful sometimes, its just unreal.

  While he watched the third video, my humming and -- annoying shit, increased. I wasn't technically dancing around the bnket spread out. Doing more of a walking on air, gymnastic moves. Enjoying myself ostensibly, but in reality being as annoying as possible.

  "Honey? I don't care if The Barn, really is an urban legend, and no one can prove some video floating around is just somepce ciming to actually be the supposedly legendary, supposedly nonexistent fighting pce. Are you seriously going to watch that video, and tell me you don't know who that one guy fighting is? I mean, I might be a streetwise jock, but, one more time I'm not majoring in basket weaving."

  "What do you want? What's the point of all this…"