Wingtips. Good call. Shine ‘em yourself?
How’d you know?
You’re not exactly a tough read.
Huh. Could surprise you.
I doubt it.
All right. You want to give it a try?
OK. You desperately want to belong somewhere, with someone, which is the real reason why you sneak into fancy faculty parties. Not because you’re sick of your ramen and video games routine. And now, your mind is racing. You’re wondering what you can possibly say or do to keep me on the line, because the last thing you want is to spend the rest of the evening with that scotch, and that shaggy-haired friend of yours. You know what your problem is? You’re pretty. You even work the…blind thing, but you’re dumb. You lost before you even stepped to the plate.
You get all of that from a pair of old wingtips?
You wanna know what I think?
Ahh, tell me.
I think the game’s just beginning. Because despite your artisanal tequilas and charm-school manners. Despite being richer than God and having the whole world at your fingertips, you’re just bored.
Bored enough to spend your time studying a stranger’s shoes. See, I think you were dying on the vine of this tight-ass party, because Daddy’s money can’t buy you the one thing you really need.
And what’s that?