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[SlaveNoMore]

Shape Shifter
And then there's slave. Ah, slave. The last time I saw him, he was drinking rhythmicgymnastinis on Death Disco Night at Mission. He was standing at the bar between Granty Panty and Spencer Product. Even among the glitterati on the hippest night in the hottest bar in the most fashionable city the world has ever known, he shined brighter than the morning sun on a 7 a.m. hangover. I could just barely make out the conversation.

"I don't see why anyone even cares about this British stuff,"
said Spencer condescendingly. "Why anyone cares about a country whose great contribution to culture is FHM and Maxim is beyond me."

"Duh. Collin Farrell, helloooo!" giggled Granty.

The hurt I felt upon seeing him was immediate. I would have avoided him altogether in the slim hope of finding someone more attractive than he to make out with in front of him, but even on the hippest night in the hottest bar in the most fashionable city the world, there were no suitable prospects. Left with the shame of knowing I'd been publicly dumped so he could bugger a tiger, and an inbred mutant one at that, I contemplated leaving.

Then our eyes locked. His piercing gaze penetrating through my very existince. I was powerless to move as he sauntered my way.

"Sorry it had to be like this," he said.

"But I thought we had something," I pleaded. "I thought we were soulmates!"

"We were, but my soul changes with the season and you lost yours to the pawn shop. Cheer up. We'll always have that night in the frat. Take care, shape. You look like shit."

He tousled my hair and I watched through tears as he disappeared on the dance floor. Then it occurred to me that some beings are too great to be horded by one individual like a piece of gum, they must be shared, like music or really good weed. And that made me feel better.

Then I went outside and keyed his car. That made me feel even better.

Thanks for putting up with us, slave.

It was the End Up, not Mission.

And thank god for Earl Scheib. Any Car, Any Time, $199.95