In standard form, Freestyle Five ate and drank their way across NY and Brooklyn. When we weren’t eating and drinking, we were taking pictures, having our picture taken by others (we, of course, would ask, “Would you please take a picture of us…with your camera?), or wreaking havoc on some city block.
One evening while wreaking havoc, Oreggano advised us she wanted to purchase a NYFD t-shirt, so we stopped by a local station to inquire. Within minutes we were in the middle of a photo shoot, donning turnout gear, and attempting to slide up – not down – the fire pole. The latter resulted in an injury (I accidentally kneed Sleepless in the eye). I shouted out, “Medics,” however, nobody responded. My guess is they were distracted. We had been there about 20 minutes when their chief arrived. It was at this time that we knew we were outta there.
A few hours later, we stopped by Dylan’s Candy Bar for some sweet adult beverages. As we enjoyed our candied drinks, Sleepless and Beaner sought refuge at a nearby cupcake table and, within minutes, were sitting on top of the bench for a backside photo. “Ladies, get down from there! Ladies!! Get down! That is very expensive cushioning,” a female employee shouted from across the bar. “It’s pleather,” Live Longer said under her breath. Our server returned to our table and immediately provided an apology, “Sorry, she’s from Brooklyn.” “We’re from Brooklyn,” we all replied. “But we’re from Dumbo,” I said and added, “She must be from Dumb ho.” The rest of our time at the Candy Bar was supervised by security and we were essentially escorted out once we finished our drinks. Apparently they wanted us outta there.
We made our way to a nearby house party, assisted people with the beer bong, threw down some excellent dance moves, and then decided to move on – quickly, so we grabbed a cab and got outta there.
By the time we finally got home, it was late and we were feeling great. The next day, however, showed different results – especially for Beaner. She wasn’t feeling too hot and while heading to Manhattan on the subway she started to get pale. A few stops in and she was out. “I’ve gotta get outta here. Now,” she told us, then exited the subway. We grabbed our stuff and quickly followed. “Throw up on the tracks over there,” Sleepless advised. “Back up if a train comes or else the velocity of it will blow the vomit back in your face,” I advised. So helpful are we.
Later, when we told Live Longer about the incident, she said, “I always knew she was bulimic. Sorry, I’m an asshole.” Poor Beaner. She felt horrible, but wanted to continue to hang with the Freestyle Five. If she didn’t, she would be like her vomit, outta her(e).