Champagne and fuckin caviar.

Going to bars in a city you don't live in, alone, is a strange thing.
The sleaziest (and not in a good way) guys seem to have a spidey like sense that you are seeking entertainment. Its never the type of entertainment you want.
Just because I am alone, doesn't mean I am desperate. Can you smell it on me?
Maybe I am here to watch.
Maybe I am here to be alone.
I'm content being the observer.
I don't need, let alone want your attention or company.
Tonight is exceedingly odd.
I'm overhearing girls talking football players and guys talking hair.

I found the diviest bar I could, which wasn't all that easy in a town where everyone can afford Audi convertibles and buy the best set of tits.
The girls are all teetering around in heels as tall as the buildings and skirts even higher.
The boys are walking around like roosters with their chests puffed up and hair thats perfectly combed.
Everyone is beautiful, but only in the billboard sense.
Hours spent at the gym, at a tanning booth and days spent in front of a mirror.
The only way you could see more skin would be to spend a week in a nudist colony.
People really aspire to look, live, like this.
Their main focus is to look like society's idea of perfection.
Who the fuck was it that thought this is what perfection looks like?
Where does personality go when all your thoughts are focused on appearance?
Do they strive to be an “individual” like everyone I know?
They don't stand out in a crowd. They blend.
Maybe this is what they want.
The perfect camouflage.
In a sea of blond and flesh.
In a fucking landslid of designer brands and fuck me pumps.

I wonder what they find passion in.
What do they believe in?
I cant even dream up something that they would die for.
That special sale?
The fastest car?
The perfect polo?
The richest boyfriend?
The biggest fucking diamond?

These are people planning/deciding my future.
Our future.
To bad our future can't be found in fillet mignon, champagne and caviar.