I was invited, tonight, by a self proclaimed schizophrenic named Winter to come with her and write a new constitution. I informed her of the futility of such an endeavor, but she told me it was the act, not the result, that mattered. We talked for hours, competing to see who was the more adept bullshitter. She told me she had an IQ of 177. I told her that I didn't know what an IQ was, but that I knew big numbers when I heard 'em. She told me of how her preparation had met with the opportunity to work for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. She told me of this after copping to having mental problems, in response to which I quoted Ginsberg. She acted as though she had some conception of Howl, but in an act of subterfuge I discovered that she not only wasn't familiar with Ginsberg, but that she didn't know how to Howl at all. Actually, I'm lying; after I quoted the first line, she quoted the second. After pointing out that she lacked the requisite stature to condescend to me, I spent several hours condescending to her because she was attractive in spite of her stupidity. Of course, she wasn't actually stupid, she was merely condescending to me. She spent the whole night regaling me with tales of her overcoming both her privilege and her blackness, which, due to my vanity and ignorance, allowed for me to find her more and more attractive. You see, both her fortune and her misfortune far outstripped my own, and I admired and envied her ability to overcome both.

A fight erupted several minutes after last call, a fight between the blacks and the whites. Chivalrous as I am, I stepped in to prevent two men from scalping a young woman who had spent the night being denigrated by Winter. I told the aggressors that the police were en route, and that it would behoove them to make haste for another venue. Blows were thrown at the individuals I restrained, a situation that always injures my feelings. Soon enough, one team left and the cops arrived. Winter seemed to be in her element, providing the victims with moral support and fabricating tales of her own injuries and injustices.

One of the first things Winter told me was that she was a teacher. Judging by her inflection, she was as surprised by her occupation as anyone. She taught music to nine-year-olds, and science, and was this year going to teach the kids how to make rockets, or, on second thought, she was maybe just going to drop some mentos into diet cokes. She had a smile like the Grinch's, only toothier, which would make it more like the Cheshire Cat's, I guess, whoever that is. It looked great on her, in any case. She told me she lived in a garage in St. Johns, to which I replied that the garage wasn't technically in St. Johns. She iterated, this time placing greater emphasis on the fact that it was a garage. I told her that garages were awesome places to live, like a fort built of couch cushions. She reiterated. I told her it was a tragedy that one should find herself living in a garage. She agreed. Subsequently I continued to boast on how overwhelmingly empathetic I was as an individual. She was exactly like all of the women I have ever been in relationships with for exactly the same reasons that all of those relationships have ended; she was willing to say anything to gain my approval, and I was willing to say anything to make her happy. She was needy, I was accommodating.

After the cops left I waited at the bar for long enough to make sure I wouldn't run into the cops when I left the bar. For a minute or so, I watched Winter console the young woman who had been dragged across the floor by her hair, then I walked home in the rain. Sooner or later, I always become less accommodating.