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Criminal Boy…

Lucy and Ethel. Frick and Frack. Batman and Robin. What do these famous duos have in common? They got nothing on The Duchess and Sisterella when out we go on a Friday night. We can’t be beat. Until the next day when age, and too much wine, chases us down, pounds upon our heads and forces at least one of us to go to bed at 7:30.

It starts out just dinner. A bottle of wine later it’s, let’s just walk over to see what’s up in the Club known as Ocean. The herds are indeed returning from summer away. Amongst the more interesting? Shall we call him–Criminal Boy?

It’s one of those joints that sounds good until you get there. If I want it loud and out of hand, could it at least be the Dive Country Bar where everyone’s friendly? That was, in fact, Sisterella’s first suggestion. This girl, in all her wisdom, says, “Oh no. I have to work tomorrow. So I can’t stay out late.” Pfft. And pfft again. Remind me to choose the Dive Bar every time.

Still got home after midnight and may or may not have awoken next morning ienbriated. Just not the good kind.

I sashay to the bar to get these chicks a couple of Pinots. The bar is so filled, there’s nowhere to sign the bill. I turn–a gentleman sits alone. “Can I borrow your table for just a sec,” say I.

He waves his hand motioning to the empty table. I sign the bill, hand it back. He offers the empty seats. We sit and make small chit chat. He has a business. He lives here but he’s kind of lived all over. He has two kids. No, he’s not drinking plain Coke, he’s drinking Jack and Coke. He doesn’t live far from here. He’s been to prison twice. One of his kids is still in grade school.

Wait, whaaaaa? Back up, Back up. “You went to prison?” The alcohol does nothing to hide my astonishment. Pinot Noir in my system does a couple of things–makes me spill my secrets and lose all my cool when someone announces they’ve been to prison.

Yes, says he and his phone proudly displays his wanted photo. It’s the guy, a little younger, and he is pretty wanted in this official looking picture thing.

“What did you do?” I blurt.

He weaves a story of cavorting with a certain four-legged creature of the famous street of stocks. Yeah, they’re buds. My head tilts and I give him the mother disapproval eye. He smiles and boasts some more. I never did catch why he went the second time. Yeah, twice. In prison. Sisterella, meantime, has met her long lost best friends from Canada and I’m watching one of them fall in love with her. She is a cutie, but here I am, alone with Criminal Boy.

He leaves for a moment. I’m about to make my getaway. Another gentlemen steps up to tell me all about himself. I don’t think I inquired. The manager comes over and says something to the second guy. Criminal Boy sits down and says, “I took care of that. I made him leave. I don’t want him talking to you.”

“Am I on a date I don’t know about?” No, of course I don’t say it aloud. I may be drunk but I’m not an idiot. I am, however, a little spooked. And a little uppity. “Don’t be tellin’ me who I can talk to. You, you, you Criminal Boy.” I am, as always pretty badass in my head.

Instead I say, “I gotta go,” and shuffle over to the Canadians.

I tell Sisterella this girl is turning to pumpkin and I’ve lost my last glass slipper. Two cancelled Ubers later, we finally find ourselves in one. Next time, you can be sure, it’s the Dive Bar. All the criminals there wear cowboy boots. And nary a one has ever told me who to talk to. Asshat.


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