Today I went to the Kentucky Derby. My friends convinced me last night around four in the morning that the Kentucky Derby would be the best thing I could spend forty dollars on that Saturday. Granted, I didn’t exactly have forty dollars. With rent due last monday, and my rent check waiting to be cashed, I wasn’t exactly in the position to be throwing around forty dollars to get completely inebriated for what turned out to be two actual hours in the center field, completely wasted.

I’m watching law and order right now with my room mate.

So this afternoon. The three other guys in the vehicle slept while I was huddled in the back seat reading Harpers magazine, enjoying short pieces on the fading architecture of the gilded age and Emerson’s literary career as an eighteenth century transcendental essayist and journalist. When we arrived in Louisville we trolled around for a parking lot within walking distance. We decided to post up in a dilapidated parking lot full of graffiti and gravel. There were cars swarming around with signs taped to their windows that read “Shuttle”. It was comical really. Cracked out Kentucky folk trying to give drunk people rides less than a mile away. I’m sure they make a penny or two.

We brought mint juleps with us, picked up beer at the gas station, and had packets upon packets of liqueur for sneaking into the center field. We drank until we were belligerent, jolly, and jocular. Laughing, joking, debating. Eventually we walked to the derby, which by the way, was an absolute shit show. The roads were blocked off, vendors were lined up along the street. It was madness. It was amazing.

We lined our pockets with bud lights, stuffing them in every pocket we could comfortably manage, then walked. My friend left his phone in his jacket which later posed a severe problem for communication. So we rolled up to the event, and like every good event, street evangelists were trying to lead us to heaven. We talked to them for about thirty or forty five minutes until we realized that it wasn’t so fun, and all my philosophy, logic, and logical fallicies did little more than to make them silent, rather than admit that it’s all a crock that could be stipulated. Faith is stipulation. I do it. You do it. Let’s all agree that no one’s stipulation is better than anyone else’s. Anyway. We ended up buying tickets and walking in and the mayhem continued. I could barely see straight, but the smile on my face was gaping with amusement. The ostentatious hats and polo’s of variegating colors blinded me with enthusiasm.

I lost most of my friends but I stuck with one. We walked around, completely trashed, talking to people, bumming cigarettes, cheering as the horses racing down the dirt tracks. Eventually we found a good looking girl who was interested. She was tall, sorta amazonian looking, and she was wearing an afro wig with a pair of large glasses that looked insectual. And by insectual, I mean sexual, because despite her enlarged features, she was pretty attractive. But, she wasn’t giving me the attention I was looking for, and quite honestly, I wanted to hang out with my bros, so I slowly detached myself. My friend on the other hand, being completely and utterly wasted out of his mind, was particularly smitten by this feline. He had his sights set on this girl and despite my best efforts to sway him in other directions, we kept finding ourselves in her presence. She led us around hand in hand. I wasn’t exactly feeling the situation so I made myself lost amongst the crowd. Not exactly a good idea because my friend didn’t have his phone. That began the search.

I called the boys repeatedly but couldn’t find them. Eventually I find a bro sitting on a retaining wall. We sat there, eventually finding another of our lost friends, and later another. After about two hours later we gave up waiting for our friend to come to us and walked around looking for him. That was an unsuccessful search mission.

When the masses dissipated and the crowds were done piling out we decided to expand the search beyond our designated stoop. We walked around aimlessly, screaming his name, telling officers that our friend may be dead, and that if he’s lying in a ditch, not to worry because his name is Crad. The infield was a ravaged mess. I did happen to reacquaint myself with a girl I met earlier that night. Her name was “Lyric” and she was from Daytona. We bonded over Florida. Briefly. I kept telling her how beautiful she was, becuase honestly, she was a gorgeous looking girl. She had her eyes set on me and walked up to me and was showing attention, so I returned the favor and coninued flirting. Eventually I asked for her number and secured that. Lyric Fernandez she said. Beautiful, South American. She worked as a managerial representative contracted by companies to do promotional events. Model? I said. No. I have brains. I was like, oh hey. Sassy.

This is what I know about girls. They love persistence. They can say no all they want, but the bottom line is, if you’re smiling, and if they secretly find themselves attracted to you, what they say means nothing. They want you to give them attention. They fawn for attention. True story. I mean, I can’t blame them either. Earlier in the night I was borderline acosting her asking for free cigarettes. About an hour later I got my wish. And fifteen minutes later, her number.

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