Note: Another in an ongoing series documenting my (sometimes) interesting sex life.
I arrived at the bar early, uncharacteristic for me on first dates. Its always best to keep the girl waiting, give the impression that you have something more important to do. However, for reasons of work, boredom, and my consistent desire to make rules, and then bend and eventually break them – I showed up early and started with whiskey.
She and I had messaged back and forth a few times about standard topics, and agreed to meet. I picked her mostly because she had a bit more edge to her in photographs than other girls. If you're looking for what I'm looking for, small details in the picture – tattoos, booze – are a dead giveaway that she won't be the type of girl occupying a spot at my family's thanksgiving table. We messaged briefly about work – she was a recent grad working at a design firm. A few terse messages later I suggested drinks at a bar in Hell's Kitchen, about halfway between my office and my apartment.
I'd just ordered my second whiskey when she tapped me on the shoulder.