Horrible? Or adorable?

The other Aubrey flicked the butt of a cigarette somewhere and told me I was a docile lamb in the slaughterhouse of capitalism. She pushed the clipboard into my arms and held out a pen. "Sign it. It’s a petition to end sweatshop labor in Monaco." "There are sweatshops in Monaco?" I asked. She ripped the clipboard from my hands, stared at it for a moment and shoved it back. "Morocco," she said. "There is blood on your hands if you don’t." They were right, they had to be, they were so angry. I wanted to be angry too, I wanted to feel the fire of insurgency in my stomach. I signed the sheet, a heart above the "i" as always. I have forever declared myself an advocate of popular dissent, but now it was true. Also, I felt pretty good about my odds of sleeping with the female Aubrey. "What else can I do? Is this the type of problem I can throw money at?" "C’mon guy," mustached Aubrey said, "you don’t care about this stuff like we do." "But I want to. How can I help? Should I assemble the people? Can we riot or something?" "Nah, we get off in like 10 minutes, and I’m a backup DJ for show tonight, so…" He took off his beanie and wiped his forehead. I saw his hair for the first time, he had it on sideways.

Aubrey was good at discretely taking his own photo.

"Is that haircut intentional?" I asked. Aubrey rolled his eyes. "It’s ironic." "Do you mean sideways?" "I hope that question is ironic." "It is," I lied. He was so cool. Breasted Aubrey suggested I come to the show. "It’s a musical experimentation with socialist undertones. I mean, if that’s a cause you feel passionately about." I assured her it was. I used phrases like "classless order" and "collectivism" but in no particular order and without the context of an actual sentence. It was enough. She agreed to drive me but we would have to stop by mustached Aubrey’s parent’s house to pick up his vinyl. Ten minutes later we crawled into a Lincoln Navigator and were off. In the car I had an opportunity to look her over. She wore her hair in tiny, unnecessary pigtails and I could just make out the ink behind her ear. "What does your tattoo say?" She touched it and smiled, "It means ‘Peace.’ Or like, ‘Vitality,’ I can’t remember. It’s Tibetan I think."