Dancing Shoes

I’m alone again. I’ve been alone a lot, mostly because I don’t know many people here, but also because I don’t feel like socializing these days. My depression and misanthropy finally clashed and I’m having a hard time being nice to people. I just want to be left alone.

Still, he shows up in the smoking area where I came to hide, there’s a girl in each of his arm. Dickwad.

“I know what you’re going to say.” He starts. “You’re gonna call me a dickwad.” Check. “And say that you’re not ready yet. But get this, Smilte here is Lithuanian and can’t speak a word of English, so you can be an arsehole as much as you want and she won’t care.”

He then proceeds to push the girl on his left towards me, a tall blonde with bright blue eyes, wearing skinny trousers, leopard skin top and really high heels. She puts my arm around her inconceivably thin waist and smiles at me.

“Look, bud, I appreaciate what you’re trying to do and I don’t wanna seem ungrateful, but — “

“Smilte, parodyti jam.” He says in Lithuanian, interrupting me.

She nods and, with a swift move sge puts her right foot behind her own neck. In skinny trousers and heels.

“My cat does the same thing, but it’s usually followed by ball licking.” I quip, but I’m genuinely impressed by that.

“Smilte here is an acrobat in that circus in Cork.” He tells me. “And Sonja is a juggler or a clown, I don’t really speak Russian.” He says nodding towards the brunette by his side.

I look at this spectacular blonde next to me with her leg still up. She smiles at me and I finally give up.

“Daddy.” I say pointing at myself.

“Daddy.” She repeats.

We’ll get along just fine.

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