43.

The night air is crisp and stinging. It's late at night and I know it has to be Friday or maybe Saturday. Either way, its the U district, that means kids are getting drunk. It takes 10 minutes for me to find a party. A horde of kids on a porch, red Solo cups in hand. The smell of vomit and cigarettes. A party of people coming together just so they can be alone. I tromp up the stairs catching wide eyed glimpses. I shrug 'em off. Play it aloof. I step through the front door and some tool in a pink polo, collar popped of course, spots me. I can tell he's wondering 'who the fuck is that bum?' He's got this big old mole on his right cheek. Protruding thing really, little hairs jutting off it. Like flags planted atop a vast peak. It's real 3-D, coming right at me. I don't like it. I see his fingers tighten round his Solo cup and I can tell he's getting ready to shout something at me but I give a quick smile and a head nod to some dude behind him. My implication that I know someone works and he turns his head to see who it was I was motioning towards. While he's turned I scoot into the kitchen before he has a chance to see me. Real smooooooth. Sometimes a nod is as good as a wink. I got probably 20 minutes I figure before he finds me again and kicks me out. I see some half empties abandoned, so I adopt them. Because I'm that damn generous.