Last night we sat in the lounge of the Hotel Derek, drinking greyhounds and chasing them down with cheap bottled beer, hiding from the brutish realities of the night. We love hotel bars, their random mix of patrons sipping overpriced cocktails, hoping to get lucky enough to score the company of a stranger to pass the night.
There were plenty of moneyed fools in skinny jeans laughing at each other's jokes and waving their hands in the air to get the attention of the oxford-shirted waiters swimming through the bar like sharks, smelling the wounded wallets of their prey. We ordered another round of drinks and a pepperoni pizza. Hotel food is accommodating, but never really that great. But we were already here, and hungry.
After eating, half drunk and confident, we tipped up our glasses and then tipped the valet on our way into the night to look for cheaper drinks.
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