Date # 9: The Pig Whisperer
We met at Bar Great Harry. Well, actually he first went to Angry Wade’s, but he eventually found me. I ordered myself a Coney Island Human Blockhead, which was tasty. I sometimes forget how delicious beer is.
We had pleasant conversations about his past (he delivered farm pigs!) I was regaled with stories of long rubber gloves, and arms past the elbow inside pig’s vaginas. Hot, I know.
Actually, it’s that kind of stuff that interests me.
He grew insistent upon me seeing his collages. I told him I’m not a girl who plays that way. Theeeeen agreed to go with him. (I’m the consummate the straight man. Damn you, improv!) I let him know I carry a knife.
I got into a van and drove with the crazy Czech dude who blasted opera.
Life is absurd.
Responsible adults don’t get into vans with strangers. What the hell is wrong with me?
It ended up being fine. We hung out, he drove me home, still rocking out to opera. He has quite a zest for life. An enthusiasm I’m not sure if I have the energy for.
I haven’t yet figured out if he’s fun/crazy or scary/crazy.
I’d see him again.
