Sharks Don't Sleep

I've grinded out every bit of what I have left at the gym. There is nothing left to do but rest. I call out of work without knowing what it sets me up for in the ensuing early afternoon-evening hours.

Well....rest, skip the gym, get dressed up baller-ific and work my talk game to some pretty birds and fish above my own stream.
I get it in my mind to do some scheming on some rich broads Gatsby style and just let 'em assume I come from money when the truth is I didn't and don't.
I can slip on the airs of articulation, debonair-like grace, and the confidence that can be misconstrued as real wealth not the faux wealth confidence you can taste in the air emanating from pussy wearing boat shoes and passively humble bragging about his family's house and where it is in this wannabe on it's way up I guess (?) city that wishes it was more but isn't progressive enough to break the ceiling self-imposed by where it resides and its lack of real social grace or self-awareness and slight modicum of self deprecation.

I start drinking by 630pm and it feels good and it slips on like your favorite smoking jacket and that shirt that pops just the right way with your eyes or accents the shape of your torso relative to your shoulders and I blow off my girlfriend and I blow off the other girl I'm seeing to kick it out at night with my boy. I don't have room in my rotation for any new girls but I know I'm itching to just spit some talk game and work the muscles and stretch and prowl and stalk and play the game of the bullshit mating dance because if you don't stay in practice your girl can tell you're complacent and she loses interest like the warmth dying off a fire stretching into the dawn.

I switch from wine to whiskey and it's early and I know this is trouble but you know what they say.....or maybe you don't and it doesn't matter.
I head downtown with my whiskey in tow, and I kick some Devil Makes Three from my phone and it reminds me of my best friend and our trip up north and smoking it up, hitting the strip club in the afternoon, picking this girl's number up (who I'd later get a mid-afternoon request to make the road trip to rag her out which I did after we got wasted in a shitty hotel in her city), then we hit this rave and though reality did not meet expectation it's my favorite memory of our friendship because we were two friends roadtripping it up, loaded on friendship and swapping our stories and just basking the glow of good, solid, deep friendship built on understanding and realness.

I park my car and I head up to an old familiar spot to meet another compatriot of mine I've known since not long after I moved back to this fuckin' city.

Good luck and happy hunting,
    - Yrs. in Christ