It’s 1 a.m. on a Tuesday night. You’ve hit Ramrod’s underwear night but realize by your second dollar drink that nobody was interested in your bulge. You’re about ready to hit the sack when you decide to check one last time if anybody loves you, really loves you, on the phone apps and hook-up sites. No, nothing’s going on, so you go to sleep.
Presto, the following morning there are at least half a dozen hits timed 1:23, 1:41, 2:05…
Yep, you’ve been bitten by the night crawlers.
But exactly who are these guys?
Servers, bartenders and strip joint boys just off from work and not yet ready to call it a night?
Out-of-work buddies suffering from insomnia or boredom or both?
Methed-up guys who have been pulling on their dicks for the last sixteen hours and suddenly discovered you as new prey?
Out-of-towners who didn’t hit their trick quota and are looking desperately to score before they get on that plane back to Des Moines?
Admirers from half way around the world where it’s seven in the evening, their time?
Or, less romantically, they could be one of the same dozen or so guys who have been hitting you up for the last five years, though you’ve ignored them every time, or worse, actually told the moron that you’re NOT INTERESTED but apparently he only knows Braille.
What’s really frustrating is that if one of them actually looks hot and you respond the following day during civilized hours that you’d like to connect, never, no never do they ever, ever respond back. Your chance at happiness with them began at 2:03 a.m. and ended at 2:04.
Such is the price for a cyber-sex scene that never sleeps.
Wednesday: The Day Traders