Ah, the Europeans.
They have acceptable shit in Europe that the rest of the world, or at least the patio at the El Segundo Starbucks would frown upon.
Let me paint you a picture.
To start with, lets be honest, its last nights makeup.
She’s a blonde, and the dye job was awhile back, so the brunette is peaking back thru.
Late twenties, early thirties, city miles rather than highway.
Three different layers of sheer seethru for a blouse.
The pants are what look like white and black zebra print tights.
And the shoes have 6 inch heels and are screaming “FUCK ME” but in French.
And while I usually blanche at rhinestones on shoes, they seemed to work with the overall theme here.
I could be wrong, but I rarely am when I am guessing about terrible shit, but I think this is a “Walk of shame” with a stop for coffee.
Gettin her slutty caffeine fix.
More power to you, sweetie.
I understand that need
Why else am I at a Starbucks at 7am on a Sunday?
Uber blonde is trying to coax a little bird that is hanging out into eating coffee cake off of the table in front of her.
The bird is not going for it.
And why should he?
Birds are skittish just to be difficult.
Its because, pretty much everything out there, including some other birds, are out to eat them.
So Uber blonde’s, smelling faintly of last night’s perfume, alcohol and extacy are not high on their “Safe” list.
But, like the rest of us, Uber blonde can’t resist the little bird, so she finally throws the crumbs far enough away that the little bird darts in for a quick snatch and leave.
Uber blonde, finishing the reast of her coffee cake, begins to head back over to the International hotel that all visiting Euro trash stay at.
I miss her already.
But maybe I am being too judgemental here.
I have been known to jump to evil conclusions.
Perhaps she simply has horrible taste in morning fashions.
Perhaps she is on her way to a scantily clad bible study group.
Improbable, but it could happen.
Scantily clad, slutty appearing European men and women looking for Jesus.
I am so going to hell for that one.
I am seriously banking of the Almighty getting my sense of humor.
Or he could be a little Old Testament, in which case, I may end up made of salt.
It could happen.
It would be along the lines of shooting the foul mouthed messenger.
Wrong, but not unheard of.
Hate the player, not the game.
Moving away from dire Sodem and Blogging-Gamora predictions for a sec.
The little bird eventually did eat off of the edge of her table.
And then he followed her down the block.
Maybe the bird is a different judge of character.
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