Anticipation

You know what I miss in life? Social anticipation.

Back in high school, college and my early-to-mid 20s, I had very little game with the women. But I still sorta kinda loved the anticipation of going to a club or bar or party—wondering if my friends and I might hook up. Were the odds good? Not especially (gangly+goofy=massive rejection). But there was always that possibility. Especially in college, when we’d load up on MadDog 20/20 (grape, thank you), then hit the scene. Again, my successes were sorta limited. But it was fun.

I write this because, as we speak, I’m on Las Olas Blvd, on a bench across from Rocco’s Tacos and Tequila Bar. The place is packed—loud music, women in short-short skirts, guys flexing in their tight Ts. A part of me (a big part) is glad I’m done with the scene. But a part of me misses it.

Misses the anticipation.

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