The year was 1999, and somehow we all knew there wasn't going to be another one quite like it for at least a thousand years. I had gotten into an accident a couple days ago, 'cause I was going too fast, and might have fallen asleep at the wheel. So my little red corvette was in the shop, which sucked. I loved that car.
And to make things worse, the shock of the accident had left me with a high fever, and I spent two days being completely delirious, pretending to be married to my living room. All in all, it was a rather strange experience.
Anyway, I had to go out tonight for a session of dance, music, sex, romance with a couple friends. So I rented a car, some shitty automatic pile of garbage. But it got the job done, and I met up with my pals outside the disco two hours later. They were already in party mood. John didn't stop saying that there had to be something in the water, and the way he acted, you had to believe him. The dude was high as fuck.
The owner was in a good mood that night, and gave us a couple drinks for free, which was a nice gesture, but meant I had to grab a taxi to get home. The lady cab driver asked me where to, and it took me a while to answer. “New York!” I said after a few seconds.
“New York?”, she asked, bemused.
“Yeah girl. All the critics love U over there. Sounds like the place to be.”
“That's gonna be a long drive...”
“Not to worry, darling. I'll find us something to do with our time. Did I tell you that I'm an international lover?”