Why, oh why, could he not type in full and proper English sentences? Yes. Meet you there at 7pm. E
After five minutes had passed, I received the following: Cool c u then
I had almost become inured to his illiterate way of communicating by the end of this exchange.
It’s both good and bad, how humans can learn to tolerate pretty much anything, if they have to.
The following night, Raymond arrived late, as usual. He looked ridiculous —a black sweatshirt with a hood, and a denim jacket over the top.
The sweatshirt had a skull on the front. “Thought I’d try and look the part,” he said, beaming, as he stood beside me in the doorway.
I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. We went in, and I collected the tickets I’d purchased online.
The bar was poorly lit and, as implied by the name, utterly filthy.
Loutish, unkempt people of both genders sat around in Stygian gloom,
and the music from the stereo system was both unfeasibly loud and unspeakably terrible.
We went downstairs to the venue. It was already almost full.
As I’d stood waiting for Raymond in the doorway, I’d noticed a procession of ridiculous-looking young people entering the premises—
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