mr. zilla goes to town

Saturday, March 20, 2004

sex and the cities

The pair stumbled raggedly in the door, still laughing, and fell into the couch.

"Whazza time?" said Tokyo, bleary-mouthed.

London squinted at her watch. "Mmm." And squinted again. " 'S Nineteen forty five."

Tokyo rolled his eyes. Loudly.

"Sorry luv, I mean, quarter to eight. Old habits."

"Well. Still early then." Meaningfully.

There is a comfortable, albeit slighty dazed and wobbly, silence. A change of subject.

"Wha the hell were in those last drinks?" I'm completel'y blitzed."

"Luf'waffe Coladas. But you can talk, I was into the B-52's, and I'm totally bombed. Still wanna head back out though. Up for a club?"

"Not me. Still on a diet. Got to ration the beer carbs on the Atkins you know. Maybe you should call your cousin Hiro and see if he's interested?."

"I think he had one too many Manhattan Iced Teas..."


On the evidence now available, forensic weekendologists have since discovered that despite her diet, London went on to finish a bag of crisps and a final lager before passing out. Tokyo retired briefly to the bathroom, and railed a line of speed as long as Macarthur's Arm[y] before heading out.

And the rest, as they say, is just history. Although the history is written in lightning neon ink that leaps off the page and intently grabs the jetlagged reader by the short and curiousities. Kinda like Howard Zinn, but with more unlocked bicycles, and less angst.


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