Detroit hookers

Two girls came and sat down beside us at a bar in Detroit called Fishbone. One of them was kind of cute, and we chatted for a while. Well, my naivete was in full effect, as I just assumed that they thought I was cute. Lyle kind of sat on the other side of me and didn’t really say much. Then, after one of them checked my license to see if my name was really Johnny Goodtimes, they asked if I would buy them a shot. I said, “Sure.” So we did a shot, then Lyle whispered in my ear. “I’m getting a strong feeling we’re dealing with workin’ girls here.” All of a sudden, it clicked into place, like in the 6th Sense. They were wearing tightly fitting clothing, had been talking a little brusquely (I just figured that that’s how women talked in Detroit), had been asking me what I did for a living and how much money I made. After the shot, they quickly departed, and actually left us with the bill for their other drinks as well. I told the bartender that I wouldn’t pay for their drinks, but I know how bad it sucks to have someone run on a check, so I left her a huge tip to help cover for those females de la noche.

But a number of questions remain unanswered. For one thing, why did they bail without trying to out and out proposition us? When they found out that I was a quizmaster, were they that turned off? Of course, more sinisterly, did she take note of my SS# and do something shady? She seemed too stupid to memorize numbers, but it seems strange to chat up some guys for a half hour just to get a free shot off of them. I’ve signed up for a credit check, so I can keep an eye on it, but I am a little nervous. Let this be a lesson to you: No matter what the circumstances are, never, ever, go to Detroit.