Hotel go-go dancers

I arrived at the hotel with no stories to tell. The others, they’d been abroad for Christmas, taken break in Thailand and Vietnam, were en route to New Zealand via Vancouver, had pictures of gross tourist shops in hometowns to share. I had nothing.

Luke said I needed a drink. I needed several. The cheap beer cracked and si-da mixed with soju, I was seeing two go-gos by the time we got there. “That bar?” I asked with disgust, before getting on stage to shake it.

Some Korean was sure he wanted to punch me in the face. A white girl stole my cell phone. I said no bother; we cabbed towards the gay bars. The walk in did me. I slipped out into the frigid evening air, found warm ground to sleep on.

Woke up with a note from my stomach: it’s been three days and we’re still not on speaking terms.

So goes the break up.