Bars Were Made For Drinking

- A short story-
His eyes scanned the room. Tall, blonde, leggy, and slightly malnourished- it was like a heroin coated Dolce and Gabanna ad come to life. Normally, he’d slide next to one of these cliché beauties, slip the bartender a folded Jackson and drop a stupid pick up line that he read on MSN. Sometimes his cheesiness would rub off as boyish charm, but most of the time he would walk way with an overpriced cocktail in his face.
He decided to walk up the woman in the glasses. A young woman in an Uptown bar with glasses? He was already invested, despite the old adage about girls with glasses. She was most certainly getting passes, at least tonight. Besides, he was tired of going home smelling like vodka. After all, he was a Guinness man at heart.
It didn’t hurt that she was nice to look at. Well, if you ignored the glasses, the "I Heart Dorks" tee shirt,ripped jeans, and dirty green Chuck Taylors. He glanced at the tote bag hanging on her shoulder. It read, in red script, "Reading is sexy," with an image of a woman with glasses peering out of book. She was cute, but what was she doing in an Uptown bar? How did she get into the bar? She looked like a homeless college student. All of this intrigued him more.
The Village art scene had grown stale. She was tired of being dumped by men with "existential crises" or had to find their "inner Warhol- Marx conglomerate identity"- whatever that meant. Finding your self was code for personality disorder, she thought. Being a Tisch grad, she knew how to wade threw the pseudo intellectual fecal matter and to be frank, all she had to do was listen to her ex-boyfriends talk. The preachings of her emotionally dead ex-boyfriends were not, in fact, brilliant observations of the world around them, but rather pungent crap that excreted from their drooling mouths. She feared she would ever find sincere intelligence in this town.
Why head to a classy Uptown bar? She figured, if she could listen to the prattles of whiny intellectuals, she could listen to the reveberations of self absorbed business men. Sometimes numbers are more benign then letters. Plus, even in the world of endless self expression, she grew jaded and slightly burned out. A change of pace was most definetly in order.