i wait around the train station, waitin’ for that train

So I’m in this tiny dimly-lit bar on Capitol Hill, right? Wednesday, I think, because I’d been stood up at the train station and needed the love and comfort only a handful of pints could offer, but that’s neither here nor there.

So I’m in this tiny dimly-lit bar on Capitol Hill, drinking the beers and swapping the midget stories with some friends when all of the sudden we noticed that things were… quiet. A little too quiet, in fact; we weren’t having to shout to hear each other over the crowd, and yet the bar was packed.

Packed with a bunch of the deafs, turns out.

Thank god they were the quiet kind of deafs, and not the ones that try to talk and make the noises because, really, who can tolerate that? But still, there must have been 50 of them, all doing deaf things like flailing their hands around and whatever the devil it is the deafs do. And being around that many retardeds at once is a little unnerving, let me tell you. I felt like one of them National Geographic people that go live in some African village where people stick shit through their lips, only instead of the deformities being intentional, here it’s all god’s fault.

At some point during the night, I’m pretty sure one of them licked me on the face.

She was kind of cute, and I figured that maybe licking was how the deafs say “hi” — sort of like Eskimos with their nose rubbing, or frat guys with their date raping — but I tried talking to her later and I found it hard to communicate. She was holding a drink at the time and looking away, but whatever. Who needs the aggravation? And what if it’s contagious? I should probably go get a shot.

Right?

Right.

Happy Leap Year, Internet. See you in four.