#FlashFiction

“It’s all theory,” he said. He was drunk but they were all drunk. So it didn’t matter; what he’d said. What mattered was getting drunk and getting laid. Which meant that what really mattered, in praxis, was getting drunk. So they got drunk and said stupid adolescent shit and enjoyed their inside jokes and immaturity for what it was but then, wanted laid. Or something like it. Anything like it. Some sort of friction if not love and caressing and intimacy of the highest order. Friction: pants on pants off-doesn’t matter. Some sort of tactile sensation involving the opposite sex. Those dumbasses never put two and two together to realize that getting drunk subverted getting laid. Idiots. The guys getting laid had girlfriends and guts and security to put themselves in front of a woman and offer themselves warts and all. In theory.