Tuesday, 21 September 2004

Monday Night Down the Dragon Bar

A couple of beery city boys with no rhythm have latched onto a couple of drunk reggae girls. They are probably here for the music - heavy reggae DJ playing to a virtually empty bar (by weekend standards).

She dances with him, turning her pelvis out so it rubs his crotch, turns round rolls her ass cheeks over the top of his thigh. He stands there with his fat lips smirking, eyes bulging and hands smoothing her extra tight jeans.

He's an ugly man with blond hair and blond eyebrows, thick lips and small hands. He has the sense to wear a nice suit in a dark navy wool but matches it with terrible, cheap loafers with a metal bar across the instep that are in desperate need of a polish and a reheel. He's excitably drunk but trying to play it cool. He rushes over to his friend who is taking a breather sitting down and tries to persuade him to come back and join the party - its hard to get off with a girl while her friend is watching. And his girl wants a shag and she wants it bad. He probably hasn't been hit on by a girl this desperate in a long time. And she's not a bad looker, certainly has some moves, and is plainly VERY keen. Oh and she's very pissed.

A girl who only wore rollerskates to the pub gets up to leave, rolls over to the door (with some difficulty) and falls head first out the door.

The reggae DJ starts scratching. Badly. I'm concerned for his vinyl.

A monday night twilight zone of uncool in the Dragon Bar.

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