Setting One

The hawkish lookin teen with a frenzy of bleached hair squirmed, jumped, and jolted with every corner the bus took, with every slight impression of the turns that forced Adelaide to lean on the youth's forearm, his sproutly leg. Adelaide was definitely more attractive than the youth, who seemed straight, and she took slight offense to the behavior. The busroute and lack of public transportation were clearly not her fault. The offense mounted to a full-fledged attack by the sixth corner, when the blond urchin almost jumped out of his skin. Adelaide naturally resorted to self-defense via mild passive aggression, pressing against him purposefully at every mild curve, slothfully crossing her legs wildly so that her foot constantly brushed against his. Malicious joy welled up in her throat as the youth sunk into a miserable state of sulking. This lasted for three blocks, approximately to the large lawn chair the size of a small house that marked her corner. Then Adelaide tired of her game. With nothing pressing on her mind, she idled her engine on him. Again.
The most she could hope for was for a long stretch of road that would coincide with a slow song that might lend his thoughts to her for a brief interlude. Perhaps the road would have some moonlight, perhaps the air would have that soft, sexual quality, perhaps he would feel the melancholy. Adelaide realized the chances of this were slim, so she decided to make him a mix tape to encourage her chances. Well cd really, but the term mix cd was awful, and besides there was that Semisonic song that really deserved more attention.
Adeliade then thought about the wine she intended to have for dinner. This was near the hospital and the French embassy, so she really only had another few blocks to build her anticipation. What secretly worried Adelaide- for a rather long time really- was that alcohol should, by all scientific accounts, progressively make one stupider. But if one were to grow stupider, one would never know. For a few years after college, once she developed the stomach for it, Adelaide drank heself drunk a couple of nights a week. She did not seek total reprieve from the incessant curiosities that plagued her mind. She knew that was unreasonable to request. Instead, she south to water down the intense turmoil of her mind, distill the room to a few colorful characters chattering away at her, as opposed to the usual party. At 25, Adelaide was satisfied that she had at least taken the edge off. Although she could not successfully complete arguments- she ended up arguing everyone's side, which proved confusing for her opponent's- she could have moments where she realized she had not thought of anything for several seconds.
Thoughts of sex could be used to this purpose as well. But since she had started the pill, which was pretty necessary, she was a lot less horny, so Adelaide had slowly resumed her drinking.

The Boy Introduction

Adelaide vaguely considered a swig of Bacardi as she surveyed her desk for other necessary morning amenities. She was not a morning drinkernor did she like Bacardi, but she did not know how to get throughtoday sober. She knew in approx three days the death grip wrenching her brain would relax, and she would be light and carefree, laughing at a removed third person who had gone through the big P for "no good reason". She would always mutter that at the restaurant when she spilt soda on her hands. "My hands are all sticky and for no good reason!" It was lame and she did not know where she got it from, but she caught herself saying it softly while dashing about the kitchen. Similarly, she was getting her brain all sticky, and for no good reason. It wasn't him. She grabbed her faux reading glasses and gasbill.It wasn't. And if it was- well perhaps it was a friend, who was trying to help him out, and had pushed him to do it. And perhaps he felt guilty about it immediately. Perhaps he was thinking about her the entire time, missing her, finding the other woman lacking. But the sheer self delight inherent in his friendster page suggestedotherwise. He would feel entitled, as Most Men Do.