Date night

Giant fingers gripped hard around a sweaty bottle. His chest puffed out and exposed the upper part of the body he despised so much. He looked down at the girl. Mariela. She stood several inches below him.

“You are so disturbingly punctual,” said William. His friends called him Billy.

“No entiendo,” she replied, cheeks drawing up, redness blooming on her roundish face. She straightened her dress and nodded, her long pointed nose a sexual dagger.

“Then dance with me.” William took her hand and led her into the middle of a crowd. They swayed. He smiled. She giggled. Both were happy.

Fifteen minutes before, William had been in the bathroom snorting Bolivian cocaine. Mariela had been finishing dinner with her parents. Chilean sea bass.

When the dance was done, William kissed Mariela. And for a moment, she felt completely normal. He had a loveable look about him, large though he was. He hulked over her, the two white ovals in his massive head beaming at her little chest, at her subtle cleavage. He whispered something to her in Spanish, terrible Spanish. Mariela winced and took a step back.

“Que perverso!” she shouted, and ran for the door. William tried to follow but met concrete. The floor looked at him. He looked at the floor.

“What the fuck was that all about?” he asked himself, rhetorically.

William stood up and ruffled his spiky hair. He sidestepped back to the crowd and boogied the night away, while Mariela cried on the vinyl seat of a white taxi with green trim.