I Don't Want to Be Friends Anymore.

She was sitting there in that tight sweater talking about god alone knows what while I was trying to figure out how quickly I could get it off her once we were out of public when she just took it off. 

I darted my eyes about the room but no one seemed to have noticed so far. "Not that I mind," I stammered, "but could you put the sweater back on?"

What?

"Your sweater, could you put it back on?"

Why, don't you like them?

"It's not that," I stammered.

What then?

"We're out in public," I said. "And while I'm fine with going to jail, I'd really like to finish my steak first."

Are you telling me that these people don't like looking at my tits? That said she climbed up on her chair and screamed, Look at me you fucking perverts! I've got two of the most beautiful breast you're ever going to see. That's right, get a good look!

Store that one in your spank bank kid, she said to a ten year old as she jumped down. I'll be out in the car when you're done. 

I stared down at the twenty dollar steak and looked over at the thirty dollar lobster she hadn't even started eating. Then there was the cocktail she'd ordered, that was another six dollars, and as I looked at the manager I realized that this would be the last time I'd be eating here. 

He escorted me to the register, not even allowing me to take the leftovers, stood over my shoulder as I paid and shoved me through the door. I was just in time to see her climbing into the back of her roommate's car and to watch her flip me off as they drove out the parking lot. 

"Fuck me if I don't know how to pick them."