When D got into my car, honestly I wanted to kill her. Number 1, I had to drive up an incredibly treacherous, hilly, narrow Silverlake road to get her. I dead ended, couldn’t turn the car around, rolled over rocks that scraped the underside of my car. Number 2, she didn’t answer the phone. Twice. So I was about to just cancel the ride, but then she called and said she was coming out. After more minutes of waiting (time is money girl!!!), she opened the door, promptly banging it against something. Oops. She was wearing some leotard thingy with lots of flesh bursting out at the gaps in the spandex. And she was messy drunk. Sad drunk. Single girl drunk. She slumped in the seat, head against hand like she was going to sleep. Fine, I was in no mood to make conversation. But she didn’t sleep. She asked me about her night, she apologized about the wine she had with her, it wasn’t opened. Then she told me about going to this party by herself, all her friends had cancelled at the last minute, how she got wasted and realized she needed to get home now, before something really bad happened. And then I started to soften towards her, a 20-something girl just trying to have a good time. Who at least had the good sense to get a ride home. She said it was a costume party and the theme was 80’s/90’s nerds, hence the leotard. She pulled her shit together so I could take a picture of her outfit. She was so excited that I even asked. That I noticed. That someone noticed. Just another Friday night. Just another hangover. Just another girl.