Draft Two of meeting

Lalala draft two.

How can a moment of passing have such significance? I was drunk, why do I remember? How could a simple introduction lead for me to be with her today?

As I remember it, she had purple eyeshadow. Hey tight jeans had holes in the knees and behind her thighs. I recall there being one on her bottom, but I can't be certain. She had lips that curved like a heart, and were so pink she didn't need any sort of gloss. Her complexion was pale, less than perfect, but she was pretty nonetheless. The way she moved was graceful yet clumsy, as she pranced and trotted about the busy arcade.

It's hard to say why I was there to begin with, I think Brian wanted me to go. Christine was in the bathroom with Stephanie drinking what everyone thought was lemonade, and Brian was over in the main room where karaoke was held every Saturday. It seemed as though he knew this girl I was watching, they talked and laughed, Brian did his usual dance while she just shook her head and smirked as appalled parents passed by, mouths gaping in horror at the way the boy could move his hips.

She must have seen me too, standing against the wall, because she came over to me. There was a Pink Floyd logo on her shirt. It was slightly stretched out, due to her large breasted figure, but she wasn't overweight in the slightest.

"Tool. Lateralus, right?"

I didn't get it at first, but then she pointed down at my own apparel, a band t-shirt of my own.

"Yeah. Pink Floyd. Nice."

She giggled and nodded, before falling forward as two girls around the age of eleven tackled her down. She grumbled something and offered them a less than sincere smile as they greeted her.

"Mommy!" they chanted, each of them latching onto her legs. I looked puzzled.

Mommy? She couldn't be older than sixteen. That didn't make sense. She spoke again, sheepishly grinning as she looked down at the two.

"They're not mine, I swear."

One of them, a little brunette piped up with a nosy question, prodding at my side all the while

"Who's this?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Just a friend." I answered quickly, rummaging through my pocket for a cigarette. After a minute and a few small curses, I found success. I plucked one from my pack and placed it between my lips. "I'll talk to you later."

I brushed past the young woman and her "children", toward the door. I was hoping I'd have time to speak to her again before the night was over, hopefully. Yes. That would be nice.

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In my opinion, it was supposed to happen. We knew the same people, we were in the same place, we had the same interests. I've always found it easier not to question why it had to be him, why should I? It's not like I'm displeased.

Karaoke night was particularly busy, families coming in and out, it was hard to breathe in such a tightly packed area. Brian brought a few friends with him that week; a bunch of overtly-attractive Vogue teens who smelled of alcohol, but to this day they say it was lemonade, not Bacardi.

One of them lounged against the wall, his had tilted over his eyes (which were accented by thick black eyeliner). He had darker skin, tanned and even, while his hair was a honey-brown as it peeked out from under that damn hat. One couldn't help but stare at him, this well-built guy who stood tall but not too much. He looked less than friendly, but still I swallowed my fear and motioned toward him.

He wore a TOOL t-shirt. My favorite band. Good, I thought. A topic of conversation, a place to start. His smiled w as wicked as i spoke to him. I complimented him, he complimented me. Just in time for those pesky kids to come shoving through the crowd to steal me away again.

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