24

“I’m into your friend…she’s very pretty. Not that you aren’t, of course, but…you know…”

It was casual, conversational. It was near 7 in the morning, and we were standing outside a nightclub on one of the most exclusive streets of Madrid.

I knew exactly what he was trying to say. And so I raised my eyebrows, silently asking him to continue while internally delighting in the hole he was slowly digging himself into.

Maybe his mother never taught him to avoid commenting negatively about someone’s appearance to his or her face. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he was just stupid.