Notes. From the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 34.
Why chicks dig me sometimes? A theory. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, punchy guy with toothpick arms and a stupid laugh and a lousy job and this is two days in a row.
Some chick is offering to help you with that nasty bulge. Harp is right. What's the attraction? Hey, I'm almost as surprised as you are.
I guess you could say it's the married guy is ass-baked phenomenon? Maybe, but I'm pretty skeptical. I mean I wish that's the way chicks worked, but like you saw on the ride with Big Bubble in the being married doesn't automatically make a babe want to blow you. In fact, if you took every other day of my life as a guy you'd probably conclude it doesn't attract hardly any of them.
I have my own personal theory. An alternative one. The poly hypothesis on why babes want me sometimes. And not other times.
Here it is. For around 350 days a year I'm a bartender and a husband and a father. But the reality is, I'm completely out of place in that world. The whole reason for me to be in New York is to be around actors and theaters and cameras.
I dreamed it. I trained for it. It's why I'm in the city. It's where I met my wife.
So it's my element. And for maybe one month out of every year, two or three back when I was really working at it, I get to be in my element. And when I'm in my element, I find that the babes do respond. Or maybe it's the married thing.
Maybe actresses and dancers more than any other class of female take a perverse pleasure in blowing married guys. Maybe it's just showbiz. Or art. Maybe art is a perversion.
Or maybe it just hates things like marriages. Maybe marriages are a perversion like business suits. How the fuck should I know? Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction.
The people depicted in this work do not exist. Notes from the Upper West Side. Copyright 2013 to 2016. Bye, Dan Rhett.
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
.