She whispers in your ear that she'd rather not go to Sound-Bar and you agree. You wave good bye to Natasha and her friends and mouth the words Thank you to Natasha as the two of you head for the door. As you get into a cab in front of the museum she tells you she's in the mood for a burger and a milkshake. You tell her of a 24-hour diner in your neighborhood next to the Biograph movie theater. "Natasha showed me a picture of you and I thought you were cute. I've wanted to meet you ever since then," she tells you placing her hand on your knee. You tell her that you almost decided to stay in tonight, and that you're glad you came out. After that you spend the rest of the cab ride in a hushed silence. At the restaurant you both share a milkshake and a burger. You also decide to have a large plate of onion rings. You talk about your jobs, music, movies, Chicago and everything else under the sun. You ask her if she'd like to go back to your place. She says yes.
You exit the restaurant and stand under the marquee of the Biograph sharing a kiss for the first time. After a bit of making out followed by a prolonged silence she notices an uncomfortable look on your face. \"What's wrong?\" she asks. "I don't know," you tell her holding your stomach. "I don't feel so well." You back away from her just a bit wondering if the combination of pizza you had before you left, cocktails at the museum and greasy diner food are taking a toll on you. "You're turning green," she says. In a panic you try to get into the theater to use the bathroom, but the doors are already locked for the night. Panicking, you lose control and have a sudden bowel movement right there. Diarrhea starts to come out of you like a machine gun, much like the one that took John Dillinger down at this very theater 80 years ago. "Oh gross," she says, hearing the sound and smelling the noxious fumes. "I'm sorry, I gotta go." "No don't go," you say, but it's too late. You have no choice but to surrender to your fate much like Dillenger and fall to the ground in front of the theater lying on the sidewalk in a nasty pile of your own filth. THE END |
