Do you shave your head to look like a dick?

We had to pull fourty bucks out of our asses for our train tickets to Guelph, and so far, our luck hadn't been great.

We'd only just sat down, but apparently we'd picked the wrong piece of sidewalk to rendezvous at. As soon as we'd sat, we were bombarded by a homebum and his less-homeless looking friend.

He spat bearded complaints about how he'd been using this spot to panhandle for the last 6 years.

That wasn't our problem -  if you've been sitting on the same piece of sidewalk for 6 years, you should probably move somewhere - either a different sidewalk for a change of scenery, or a different walk of life to gain some different hopes.

Regardless, we left so our ears could find some reprieve from his haggard, scratchy excuse of a voice.

By the time we'd crossed the sidewalk, he'd already left. Fuck it. We went back and sat down, on the very same square that he'd just given us a lecture on being useless. This turned out to be the best decision of our day.

Once we returned, we held out our sign which attracted the right kind of people. One of the first donors we met was a young girl, our age, named Sam.

She bounded over to us and struck up a smiley conversation, with some smiley hand movements, before handing us a smiley 20 bucks.

I felt like I'd seen her before.

She kept talking to us and after a while, offered to take us out for lunch. Hungry as we were, we politely declined. Hadn't she already given us 20 bucks? That was more than enough.

She insisted, though, and helped us up from our seats on the concrete and walked us back towards Queen.

This girl was great. She was bubbly, she smiled a lot, and she was very... weird.

Not weird in a bad way, but weird like we were - open-minded and not afraid of the twisted and foul inner-workings of a broken psyche.

She was a computer programmer, so she had a ton of time to spend by herself, contemplating the awkward algorithms of a nerd's mind. Because of this, we had some great (albeit very odd) conversations.

Still, she reminded me of someone.

The four of us strolled down the road, the three boys collectively infatuated with this high-spirited angel. Together, the lot of us strolled down Queen, trying to figure out which restaurant to go to.

We left the choice up to her, since it was her money.

She decided against that - she was feeding us, so we should pick. We unanimously agreed to go to the first bar that we found, which happened to be only a few feet down the road.

In the double-doors we went, looking back at the reflections our filthy faces and our sparkling mentalities. We were turned around soon after, our elation twisted into outrage.

A tall, bald man who could only be described as a fuckface was waiting for us when we stepped inside, his arms crossed and his posture confrontational. He looked us over.

"Nope."

We paused and waited for him to finish. He didn't.

"What?"

"You've got to go." He spoke to us as if we were trying to sell his customers barrels of earthworms and maggots.

"Why?"

He first looked at Scrib. "Well, you need a shower," he said, apparently trying to single Scrib out (like most authority figures seemed to do), "and I can already tell that my customers don't like you."

Doubtful. There were very few people that we can't manage to put a smile on.

"Do you shave your head to look like a dick?" Scrib asked, "because you're doing a pretty good job."

We laughed, left, and spent a good minute emptying the phlegmy contents of our lungs onto the door before we left to find another restaurant.

It was then that I realized why Sam seemed so familiar. She had the exact same smile as my ex-girlfriend.

Weird...

I looked at her with a different eye from then on - not suspicious, though if anything, my gaze probably making it more obvious that I really liked her. Shit.

Infatuation is such a stupid thing... it's one of the only feelings that can make you disregard your plans, your morals, and your life for a few hours or a few days worth of satisfaction.

Infatuation; the Feel that allows you to find perfection in the apple of your eye for the simplest things.

She plays with her necklace the same was as you do? Oh my god, we're meant to be together. She has a tattoo on her arm too? We're soul mates. 

Ridiculous.

Damn. Either way, getting kicked out of the bar by that douchebag had brightened our days. It had given us something to stand up for - it had almost entitled us to a sense of purpose.

Sure, maybe we weren't university grads, but at least we were able to piss off pretentious fucks just by being alive.

Thanks, man!