Beat It.

Well, I suppose you’re curious about the events of my date last night, with the psuedo-homeless girl. I should start by saying that I am not one who is too fond of the ‘date’ structure. I tend to avoid them at all costs, and opt for a more casual group-set up.

Regardless of this, I decided to meet up with this female as she requested – and as I arrived at the venue, I looked around, walked up to the bar and I saw her standing there. She looked nothing like how she appeared last time in the tunnel. Her hair was fluffy and big, and it bounced off her brow like pink fairy floss. She was wearing a gold satin dress that tucked in at the waist and made her legs suggest they were ensured for a large sum. Her eyelashes were long and her face shone radiantly like the moon in a starless sky. I was very glad I turned up for that date.

We began talking, and conversation was easy – either we had a lot to say, or a lot of coronas, either way, it was rolling around wonderfully. Turns out her name is Beatrice, but she prefers ‘Beat’ (however bizzare that may sound…) She is a serial university drop out, having tried four different ones in the last two years. She claims to not have vocational ambitions and just wants to fly an ebony kite in every country in the world. She is saving up to achieve that goal currently through “dancing” at various “clubs” in the city. For something as potentially date-wrecking as the admition of being a stripper is, she was surprisingly un-coy about it. In fact she related her sordid tales about seedy old business men and their strange propositions with great vigor and ebullience.

A few hours into the date, she requested I excuse her for a moment, which I kindly did. And I waited at the bar for her for about 15 minutes, until she turns up again with a New York Yankee’s baseball cap full of jellybeans. When I asked where she procurred these sweet treats, she told me that she found an otter made of styrofoam under the staircase that preceeded the bathrooms. As she picked up this bizarre discovery, a short, asian girl runs out of the ladies sobbing “The SLIMEBAG, I never want to LOOK at THIS AGAIN!” and she hurls the yankees cap inadvertently at Beat. Beat shakes the otter, hears a rattle, pulls it apart and empties the contents into the hat.

Of course I didn’t believe a word of her story, but I enjoy how it amused me.

We spent the rest of the night just frolicking around the city. At one stage, she crept into a bakery that opened late, and stole two brownies from the display cabinet.

They were the most magnificent brownies I had ever tasted.

And she told me stories of all the places that she’s been, and the people that she’s met. I couldn’t tell what was true and what wasn’t, but I adored it all. She was like a Lewis Carroll book wrapped up in one divine, outrageous package.

Just as I was about to ask her back to my place she runs off, into the photobooth. Seconds later, she re-emerges, with a strip of four photographs, and on the back, her number scrawled in purple ink. She kisses me quickly, on tip-toes, and then runs off, into the night.

Behold, a deity stronger than I; who coming, shall rule over me.”

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