LogFAQs > #946308356

Couldn't finish what I wanted tonight, but wanted to at least post something since it's been too long.
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B) Take his hand and follow.

You reluctantly take Lennoxs hand. Its still greasy from the currywurst.
Lennox wraps his thumb around the back of your hand, almost as if he didnt expect this result and hes making sure your hand is real. Well alright then, he smiles in spite of himself.
Normally his incredulity would be a little off-putting, but you didnt expect this result when you walked over here either. You came over for sex. Also a bite of pork, but mainly the sex. You cant say with any certainty that sex is definitely off the table, but it seems like the night is evolving beyond that.

You take your hand back and nod at the fresh saisons the waiter left. Its a cold night. Better down another glass of liquid warmth before we go. You grab the glass in front of you which promptly slips out of your hand and smashes on the floor. Saison and broken glass everywhere. The bartender motions for the waiter to take care of the mess. You feel no guilt knowing hes the one who has to clean up this mess.
Mmm. Always use the non-greased hand, Lennox ribs you. You can have half of mine.
You happily accept the drink with your left hand and swiftly down half of it in a couple swallows before handing it back.
Lennox looks impressed. Are you allowed to chug saison on Fifth Avenue?
You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater. Doesnt matter. Were not going to be on Fifth Avenue for much longer.
Lennox follows suit and finishes the rest of Burlington, Vermonts fourth driest saison. You both rise from the table and pass the forlorn waiter holding a mop and broom.

You throw open the door and find yourself on the twenty-eighth floor of a Fifth Avenue skyscraper. You take a moment to readjust to your surroundings. The exposed brick is designed to make you feel like youre in a basement club and usually you see right through it. After four and a half saisons, however, the glass windows looking twenty eight floors down left you slightly disoriented.
Lennox puts his hand on your elbow to stabilize you. You alright?
Yeah. Yeah, Im fine.
Lennox looks down at the city. Hey I know I asked you this during my rant earlier and I never gave you the chance to answer, but when is last time youve been off Fifth Avenue?
Years. Its been years. I uh I cant
Its fine, Lennox sees your wheels spinning. You dont have to answer. What Im trying to get at is youre, yknow, famous. Youd likely get recognized out there in a turtleneck. And if you havent been off this street in well just call it a while - it might be better to float under the radar.
You nod, but dont entirely understand. I didnt bring a change of clothes with me.
Im staying in this building. I can get you a hoodie, he offers.
Okay. Where are you staying?
My rooms on the second floor.
Oh they put you in the basement? you ask without thinking.
Hes confused. ...No, Im on the second floor. I can grab it and meet you on the street?
Sure. The street.

You ride the elevator down and part ways as Lennox gets out to retrieve his sweatshirt. You let out a deep breath as the doors close behind him. Guilt briefly clouds your mind when the elevator dings and you step onto the ground floor.
The doorman eyes you suspiciously, but quickly remembers to smile. Hello, Miss Weiner. Are you going outside? You can tell he was trying to find a way to phrase that more delicately.
Yes, its been a while since Ive actually walked across the street. The actual street.
You and Lennox have different definitions of what the street means. For Lennox its the roads he drives on every day, the sidewalks and the poor horny souls walking on them. For you, the streets are the roofed bridges built across Fifth Avenue three stories up. You dont live in the same building as the speakeasy, so to go home youd need to cross the street. Anything below the third floor is the basement. Where they put the people who entertain you. Who brew you beer. The people who get horny to survive, not the ones who have the luxury of feeling it organically. You cross the threshold of the entrance and inhale your first natural whiff of the city in ages. Lavender. Lilac. Is that petunias you smell? Its been so long that you forgot about the Fifth Avenue air fresheners constantly showering the area. You don't remember it being this strong. Its like someone took a shit in a bathroom, then sprayed an entire can of Febreeze to hide the wreckage. Except the bathroom is the entire country. And the shit is cum.

Lennox emerges after a couple minutes and hands you a black sweatshirt. You hastily shove your arms into the sleeves and throw the hood over your head. It doesnt smell dirty, but it doesnt smell clean either. Its as if the hoodie came straight out at the dryer without a dryer sheet after being washed without detergent. Are you ready?
You pull the drawstrings tight and shrink the amount of fame youll allow the rest of New York to see. Yep.

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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.