Below is something I pulled from the book, but eventually put back in. Though some of the self-professed vampires I met are in it, the scene itself has nothing to do with vampires at all. That is why I killed it. I eventually missed it terribly and of all the scenes that hit the cutting room floor--this is the one I truly missed. So I put it back in. I'm the author--I can do that kind of stuff.
It happen while I was hanging out with a group of self-professed vampires (including the below-mentioned "Jay" and "Ali"). They stepped outside for a smoke, I joined them, and that's where we met "Kyle."
Enjoy.
Jay and Ali wanted to jump outside for a cigarette and I decided to tag along. For something to talk about, Jay and I were lamenting the recent death of Washington's only alternative radio station. It had been unceremoniously replaced by Spanish pop music station called "El Sol." After taking a beating in the press, Infinity Broadcasting, the radio glutton that owned WHFS/El Sol, announced the station was returning--or at least the format was returning, during the evenings and weekend schedule on one of its Baltimore stations. There was another guy smoking outside who came up to us and spontaneously joined in our conversation. He said his name was Kyle, his neck had no less than eight fresh hickeys on it, and he was really, really, really excited to have WHFS back on the radio.
Kyle couldn't stop talking about how radio sucks, except for WHFS, and he was hoping that they would sponsor more local events, like the "Girls Gone Wild" night he recently attended at a local bar.
"You shoulda seen it," Kyle exclaimed. "Girls would be comin' in and takin' their tops off. But 'cause they can't show their naked titties, they'd rub paint all over themselves."
Kyle was getting very animated, rubbing his hands over his imagery breasts as he pretended to wiggle as he walked. I guess it was supposed to look alluring.
"And these girls come out with their painted titties and the cops swoop 'em up, gives 'em a $50 fine, and throws 'em out in the street," Kyle said. "Now why would you want to go paint up your boobies just to get a $50 fine and tossed out?"
"Probably because you got paid $200 to do it," I replied.
"Huh?" Kyle said, looking at me with a slightly drunk, slightly confused look.
"They probably got paid $200 to do it, took a hit for the $50 fine, and go home with $150," I said.
"Well, it still sucks," said Kyle, somehow needing to turn this conversation into a mild win for his argument. "'cause you have to pay to get in, and it's packed full, and then all you see is a bit of painted tit and then—boom—they gone," Kyle added.
"Why didn’t you just stand outside," I asked.
"Huh?" Same look.
"If you have to pay to get in...but the women are only in the bar for a moment...and you can't see them before they're thrown outside...why not just save the cover charge and stand outside," I said.
"Why?"
"Because when the women are thrown out of the bar, they'll be standing there right in front of you...for more than a few seconds...for free."
Kyle needed to think about this one for a minute. Clearly, I had just blown his mind.
"Ah, cut it out, man," he said. "You're just fuckin’ with me."
I assured Kyle that I, indeed, was certainly not fucking with him.
"Well, besides. You know. I can understand why a restaurant wouldn't want naked titties all over--'cause it ain't sanitary and all," Kyle reasoned.
Jay and I looked at each other, trying to understand how breasts are any less sanitary than, say, elbows.
"But a bar, man, people just go there to have fun."
Jay puckered his lips and shook his head, seeming to agree that no one in a bar would really care if there were dirty, unsanitary titties flopping about.
Kyle's friends came out of the restaurant and we took this as our cue to head back to our group.
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