The girl with the transparent dress and her ass showing sat to my right, and her boyfriend, the guy with the inside out woman pants and a messy blonde wig, sat to my left. He started grabbing my knee like it was nothing, as he spoke to me in a very Mexican sounding Spanish. “Chilean? Ah, I love Santiago!” he said. His girlfriend would smile and smoke, and wouldn’t let her hand off my shoulder. She also spoke a bit of Spanish. A very kind-of-sexy-but-annoying one.
We were all in the backroom of a smoky bar in Amagerbrogade, seated in ugly green suede sofas. My friends were sitting at the end of this big table in the middle of the room, a few meters from me. They would glance at me and laugh; but mostly they were very concentrated in their conversation, as I was very focused on being fondled by this couple. And a bit drunk, of course.
At around midnight, the couple got ready to go. “I’m going to a private party in Kristiania on Saturday,” the guy with the fake blonde hair said; “you should come. We can speak Spanish all night.” It sounded like a great plan, in my state. I sent him a friend request on Facebook before they left. A few minutes later, around midnight, me and my friends moved to another, shittier bar. I stopped drinking there. It was Thursday night, after all.
The next morning, as every Friday, me and my colleagues had breakfast together. I told them the -apparently swingers- couple story, from the night before. They all laugh their asses off. “This kind of things only happen in Amager,” I said. The truth is that they only seem to happen to me, so people hardly believed in my stories. Or, maybe, they prefered not to believe. It was easier that way.
When breakfast was over and the daily office routine began again, my direct colleague approached me. “I’m afraid that one of these days you just won’t show up for work,” he said, smiling. I don’t think he was joking, though. He’s a family man.
“A couple of days after breaking up,” I said, “I told our manager that the months to come were going to be decadent. I wasn’t lying.” Not that I’m glad to have been fucking right.