. . .on the outskirts of a dance floor. I didn’t intend to be standing there I was waylaid on the way back to my table by someone who, don’t you hate this, wanted to talk.
He’s chatting while surveying the dancers. He nudges me and makes a comment about the looks of one of the dancers. I look through the crowd trying to pick out the person he’s talking about. I blink a few times before asking him a simple question,
“Are you talking about your cousin?”
“Yeah, good looks run in the family, don’t ya think?”
“What the fuck are you doing? Auditioning for Dateline Predator: The Family Edition?”