Miracle at Mcdonald's

Dear Friends,

Sometimes, I’m intimidated by tall women.

The night began on a booze cruise. It was a fun event, and oddly segregated; black people on one level of the boat, white people on another. I attempted to get the bartender’s number but she refused. That’s OK; the important thing is to make an effort. Luck favors the bold.

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“SADLY, AT THAT MOMENT, I WAS A PUSSY.”
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A ruckus cab ride led us to Hair of the Dog, a debaucherous establishment with a generally young clientele, although I bumped into someone from my office who has to be at least 35. The bar was nearly closed, and most of my crew were long asleep. Two men were left standing: me, per usual, and a sexually ambitious gentleman I met on the boat earlier that night, named Hook. I had been talking with this one girl from Tinder, quite beautiful and incredibly tall, nearly 6′. She and a friend came to Hair of the Dog right at closing. I suggested the four of us eat ice cream. So we sat on the stoop of a nearby building, eating ice cream with plastic forks, out of a Ben and Jerry’s carton. We separated into two groups: My girl and me, Hook and her friend. My girl towered over me–with heels she was probably 6’2″–but she seemed into me. She kept touching my hair and showed me a photo of her rear end—very robust, very bubbly. I should’ve gone in for a kiss, but I have a fear of tall women, and just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Sadly, at that moment, I was a pussy.

At this point, it was around 6 AM. Hook and I meandered to the Mcdonald’s on Delancey Street (photo attached), which has to be the most sullied and sloppy franchise in the city. Two grown-ass men, educated, independent, somewhat civilized, sitting in a Mcdonald’s just before dawn with the sole intention of “creeping.” Late at night, on a weekend, this Mcdonald’s is a zoo of drunken women and thirsty men. A Swedish man greeted us who bemoaned the loss of his computer. Hook made an insensitive comment about how the guy must have lost gigabytes of porn on his hard drive, and the Swede started crying.

Two girls walked in just as the sun was rising. I’m from New York, I was raised on the rough streets and burning asphalt of the Upper West Side, and I could tell that these two girls were native city people. I turned to Hook and said, “Look, two girls.”

The two girls had situated themselves, with Chicken McNuggets and a tower of honey mustard, at a table in the alcove of the restaurant (a photo of the table is attached). Hook and I approached them. One of the girls stated she was a college dropout, the other stated she went to college in Ireland, and that they were raised on the Lower East Side. (I told you, I could spot a native New Yorker from a mile away). Hook asked the two girls if they wanted to come back to his apartment, a four-bedroom share in a medical school dorm. We hailed a cab, and at a cost of $20 we traversed the length of Manhattan, up the FDR Drive to the Upper East Side. I was in the backseat, hardly able to control my laughter, looking at the distant horizon, knowing that providence was with us, like a wind in our sails.

The four us laid in Hook’s full-size bed. The room was small, carpeted, and cozy. It was around 8 AM. Hook pretended to have an interest in the view from his bedroom window, and in doing so, made a move on the college dropout, and she reciprocated enthusiastically. I pretended to be asleep as the two kissed with vigor and passion. The two moved to the floor so as to get some privacy (privacy, in this context, is of course relative). Hook was on top and the girl had her back on the floor. I had the dubious misfortune of seeing Hook’s ass thrusting up and down. But I was happy that after such a grueling, 12-hour effort, some symbiotic fornication came to bear.

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“I SHOOK HER IN A FUTILE ATTEMPT TO WAKE HER UP, BUT SHE WAS GONE, A CASUALTY OF FATIGUE.”
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I tried to cuddle with my girl, but her response was lukewarm. At some point in time, her arms were thrown around me, but I wasn’t getting the feeling that she wanted any more. It’s hard to make a move unless there’s some overt or obvious indication of interest; perhaps that was my downfall, perhaps I should have been more ambitious, less fearful of her ducking to avoid a kiss attempt. She fell asleep. Noooo! I shook her in a futile attempt to wake her up, but she was gone, a casualty of fatigue.

There was no way I could fall asleep myself; I had come too far to turn back now! And two lovebirds were fucking not even three feet away. I stared at the ceiling for a couple of hours, hoping that the girl next to me would wake up before the afternoon. But I’m still hoping. My prayers went unanswered. Everyone rose at around 1130 AM and the girls made a quick exit.

Not having slept for a moment, I enjoyed a minute of self-reflection in the bathroom. On the face of it, it was a horrible turn of events for me; 12 hours of pursuit, no sleep, spending a sex-less night in a medical school dorm. Yet, I was happy with what had occurred; it was a funny story, a good memory, a laugh. Laughing is as important as fucking. No one said this journey would be easy. This road I’ve chosen is harder, but it leads to a better place; this path is longer, but we travel it together. At the end of the day, if you think of going out on the town as an ice cream sundae, think of it like this: going out, laughing, making memories, seeing friends – that’s the sundae. Sex is the cherry on top of the sundae, not the sundae itself.

Thank you,

Ronnie Shapiro, JD – editor-in-chief

Jason Cohen, Esq. – executive producer!