Virtual Flaneurism

Last night my roommate Erin and I attempted to go to a Yellow Ostrich concert near our apartment. In typical fuck-up fashion, we managed to mix up the order of bands and walked through the doors as the band finished their set. To make up for this epic fail we bartered with the lead vocalist over band t-shirts and then flirt-pestered him until he told us the cross-streets of where he lived in Brooklyn. Erin also managed to score a pair of free tallboys from a middle-aged Indian bartender and then fretted for a good twenty minutes about whether she'd inadvertently sold him her body. These are the days of our lives, people.