Before I turn 30...

Dawn breaks through a cold Sunday morning as I watch myself pinching the bridge of my nose against the car window. I´m mildly drunk & riding in the backseat with this gorgeous, I kid you not, Chilean brunette I´ve just met lying down across the seat, her head resting on my left thigh. I´m caressing her hair just above her temple.

I can´t, I´ve just decided, for the life of me, recall either her name or the name of the guy who´s driving us to this 24-hour sushi bar. God only knows what makes people crave for Japanese food after wasting themselves off in a nightclub, but it happens.
I myself suggested this fancy bakery not really far from where we were, but what the hell.

A while back, it must had been there around four a.m., everyone was exhausted but I just kept on dancing and this guy comes up to me and asks what have I taken ´cause he wants just the same. Nothing, really, I tell him. What I don´t tell him is that these freaking euphoria attacks are probably going to be the death of me.

Later on, after the sushi, everyone´s trading up age information: The how-old-are-ya´s and such. I tell everyone I´m sixteen and when they doubt it I just tell them to ask my mother or any of my ex-girlfriends.
Everybody laughs; it works every time.

The point in this one is.... what I really want you to know today, so that it gets perfectly clear when going over everything that´s happened afterwards... is that I can´t possibly conceive breaking thirty, getting old, that kind of stuff.... because I just don´t want this to stop, you know, living like this, not a care in the world, absolutely alone though lonely only when I really want to, pushing through the limits of sleep-deprivation to hear that favorite track in the CD one last time, going for ice-cream in the middle of the night, hitting bars and nightclubs, and even going dead-drunk to museums to laugh at Impressionism paintings and well, whatever comes to pass.

A little before we left the dance floor-- last guys out, actually—they were playing this dance remix of Outfield´s Your Love and there´s this line it says, I like my girls a little bit older. I held this really cute blonde I know by her shoulders and sang in her ear, I like my girls a little bit blonder.
She looked at me from the corner of her somewhat slanted eyes from all those Cosmopolitans she´d been taking down, and blew me a kiss with her hand. I gave her the old routine in response, that cocky half-smile curling the left corner of my mouth, then slipped this piece of paper inside her purse.

And what it said was........................