Bill, the great lover of women
There is something to be said for drunken encounters, and while getting philosophical-drunk last night, I’m pretty sure I proclaimed that beer was the great unifier. While walking down one of the little streets in Philadelphia, it’s inevitable that you’ll be waylaid by other drunk people standing outside smoking. This is precisely what happened last night.
One of these people was Bill. Bill and I got to talking:
“I like your… I like your…” he gestured towards my chest.
“You like my scarf?”
He nodded sadly.
“A cruder man would say he liked my rack, but you, sir, are a gentleman. I like my scarf too.”
“I love women.”
“I’m sure you do. I looked at you and I thought, that man is a great lover of women. What’s your name?”
“Billl.”
“Bill…”
“Billllll.”
“Bill: Great Lover of Women. That’s how history will remember you.”
“I love women a lot.”
“Oh yes. Not me, personally, of course, but many other women. Of the future.”
Bill nodded happily and turned to his friend.
“I have to go. I’m the lover of women. I have to love some women.”
“Oh, okay, I guess we’re gonna go then.”
“No. I have to go.”
And off Bill went, into the night. To love women. Or, far more likely, stumble home and sleep.
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You know how I know I was drunk when I wrote this entry? I created a new category, just for it, called “Cute.”