Where's the designated driver, here?

Friday night at the Joy Bar-(that's it's name). Halfway along the strip, the brazen girls yell at the passers by and join the frivolities...drinks, games, bright lights... so much fun!

A thick girl with pouty lips grasps our hands and hugs and kisses us for coming back to see her. I pull her aside and she cries in my shoulder.

A slight girl with a black and white dress finishes off the bottle of whiskey. We laugh raucously as a replacement bottle is brought. She dances at the pole and knocks another shot back. Then she collapses in my arms and says, "I have to drink so much because I am so sad on the inside but I have to be happy on the outside." I pass her a tissue and she goes and sits on his lap.

The one with the angular facial features pulls out a game and tells me about her son, pausing only to make eye contact with the old Aussie man at the other bar. The short, fat one comes by and kisses her breast. Oh, this is such a fun, sexy place... no rules... just fun!

But then the slight girl is back to throw up in the sink. She pulls my head close: "why doesn't he want to sleep with me?" Her out of place tears keep falling.

He has been a woman since s/he was little... I can barely have a good conversation because she keeps catching her reflection in the mirror. We laugh as she compares our chest sizes. She thinks I'm fat and that's funny too. It's all funny. Then she whips around, grabs my face in her two large hands and asks earnestly, "am I pretty?"



She's too sick to go on. I chase her unsteady,weaving steps down the road. "Will you be okay? Let me get you a motorbike. No, don't drive. Be safe. You are beautiful. You are special."



So, are we having fun yet?

Come on.