By Liz Tracy
By David Rolland
By Alex Rendon
By Terrence McCoy
By Natalya Jones
By County Grind
By Liz Tracy
By Chris Joseph
After the photo shoot, Ray leaned on me a little and asked for my phone number. His two friends exchanged a glance. Joe was tall, with sandy hair and a goatee, and Jay was dark-haired with a slight build.
"So what brings y'all here?" I asked.
"We're meeting for the first time," Joe explained. "We've never met in person before."
"We play X-Box together — all kinds of games, including Call of Duty," Ray cut in.
"You've probably been killed by my 17-year-old brother at some point," I said. "He specializes in pwning n00bs."
"I'm not a nerd," said Ray.
"He is," Jay said, disgusted. "I'm the one who's not."
"I don't mind admitting that I am," Joe said calmly.
"I'm not," Ray snapped. "Do you know how much this shirt cost? Ninety dollars!"
"I'm going to leave you here," snapped Jay, jingling his car keys. "When I come back to get you, you'll still be sitting here by yourself."
"You think I can't walk in that club and get any girl I want?" Ray shrieked. "I make $90,000 a year!"
"You couldn't get a girl as hot as this one," Jay said.
"Come home with me," Ray turned to me. "I'll buy you a shot."
"Instead why don't you buy my boyfriend a shot?" I said. My good buddy Beard was still sitting at the tiki bar a few feet away. He'd spent the evening watching the bartenders precisely measure minuscule bits of alcohol and serve watered-down drinks. "He makes $90,000 a year," I shouted to Beard, pointing at Ray. Beard rolled his eyes.
"Oh, are y'all swingers?" Ray shouted at Beard. Then he pounded the bar and summoned a server: "Hey, baby, over here!"
Next time I turned my head, Beard had disappeared and Ray had thrown his glass into a trash can (the glass shattered loudly). I thought it was about time to grab a drink before departing and hit the open road. Exit 66 is cool — particularly if you like strobe lights, loud music, and go-go dancers — but there's a whole other highway of bars out there to explore.