The new club is in the middle of car traffic. Apparently, every stop light is a chance to check out the buddy to the left and right of you. I suddenly wish I had only put makeup on and changed my clothes when I see Mr. BMW roll around. Why do I feel so self conscious? It's not like he can see the bottom half of me anyway. The SUV intimidates me, and the dude in the '89 accord is a dork. Truck drivers are the equivalent to construction workers and the old guys driving those sports cars are internet predators on myspace. Cover charge, you say? Yea, its the tolls.
Don't ask me to the club. Lets just meet in the middle of traffic.