Monday, December 7, 2009
It was the first Saturday night that had been above 60 degrees this year. There was a gaggle of bitchy-looking girls walking down the sidewalk in front of us. Going the same way we are, though most likely to a different bar. Five girls and a guy. He was a reasonably big guy, but not huge. He was a dopey-looking frat boy, apparently dragged along as security. Everybody appeared to be in their early 20s, probably all good girls majoring in business at one of the various local colleges. They’re only kind of bitchy now. The real carnage won’t start until much later. Just give them a few years. Heads will roll. Blood will flow. The girl at the center of the gaggle was wearing a cardboard cut-out tiara with the numbers “21” on top of it. They were all showing off their gifts as best they could, and they were good. They were very nice to look at. I spent four blocks’ worth of East Carson staring at their asses and listening to all the meatheads in passing cars yelling indecent suggestions to them. Halfway through our voyage, my wife told me that she thought the sound of their heels clomping on the sidewalk sounded like horses’ hooves, and I laughed out loud.