Supposed to be a calm night

, so I army crawl back into the bedroom to retrieve my shoes and other lost items of clothing while they were still on the bed, doing what it is drunk children do. 

I went into the bathroom, giggling by myself, the low grunts and groans of my success coming through the wall. 

The most direct matchmaker I am, most direct...

I held my keys in my hand, one key sticking out from each finger, and charged home with heavy drunken steps. I passed where I had laid down on the sidewalk, and where a chunk of my hair was detached from my head. I passed where I was supposed to meet a different group of friends earlier that night for booze and bowling. I wonder where the night would have gone had I opted to get drunk and periodically stand up to throw a ball at some pins with some SD locs. They surf well but they shoot guns. Things probably would have gotten creepy. 

I remember, earlier in than night, I had already taken out my contact and was sipping a latte and smoking a cigarette with my friend, pondering my pillow after a long day of laying in the sun and playing hormonal and verbal games with those gun slinging surfer boys/men/creatures. 

Oh tongue-tied mayhem that is flirtation. I barely knew the guy and he told me about how he thought he was a father for three years until his then ex-girlfriend told him it wasn't his. I don't know why he told me that story. 

Anywho, I don't like guns.