(Sorry for the change in format; sometimes I just find the details of my life more exciting than Paris Hilton's.)
So finally arriving home, the hot stoner surfer guy who lives in our building was sitting on his perch at his back porch where I like to imagine his girlfriend makes him smoke. As I attempted not to stare like I so often do, he smiled in that way he so often does that makes Andy and I want to bite him all over.
Then he shouted something. I didn't hear him so I shouted back "What?"
"Do you ever go by...Admiral Kain...Daniel Kane?". I was unsure what he was saying but I couldn't guess what it was either. I found myself wishing that mini-Matthew McConaughey might have a nickname from me. My internal monologue in that split-second was "Who's this porn star-monikered Daniel Kane and does he think I look like him?"
He figured by my perplexed look that I didn't hear him again so he repeated. I asked "Why?"
It turns out a package was delivered to him by mistake and he was trying to figure out who it was. He told more of the story but I still couldn't hear it. He seemed to want to make small talk and God knows I wanted to make it with him (get it? get it?) but since I suddenly gone deaf from his hotness, I mumbled-yelled something back and went inside.
(I started writing this last night but didn't get it finished. I've since decided that what he was yelling was veiled code searching for a hook-up of the drugs or sex variety. Like Orpheus, I'm an optimist, even when it comes to the underworld.)
