Still at the Bar.

There is a girl across the bar from me with bottle blond hair that looks more like metal than sunlight. She’s wearing black tights and a red, blue, and black flannel, but she’s too young to actually remember that flannel was a socio-political statement once — in so far as anything for which one has to pay can really ever exactly be a socio-political statement other than “Yay Capitalism!” — and she just noticed me looking at her and now she is aggressively not looking at me. It makes me want to be all like, “No! But I am not one of those guys! I’m okay! I’m all about the #yesallwomen thing!” But, alas, that is the point, isn’t it? We judge other people based on their behavior but we only judge ourselves based on our intentions.

So. I am a creepy guy at the airport, I guess is the point of this post.

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Still Still at the Bar.

The grown man in the backward baseball cap who just sat down to my right ordered a Jameson and ginger ale and chicken parmigiana. I don’t know that it would ever occur to me to order those two things together, much less in an airport bar.

Also, now he is looking at that blond girl and he is being WAY creepier about it than I was.

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