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Brandon and Chuck

KACELA

The car I was in parked at the back of the lot that was in front of the building.  The other vehicle circled around back to find a way in that way.  We got out, pairing up, and I grabbed a warrior named Jack.

“I’m going to lean in to you so they can’t see my eye and my scar,” I told him.  “Don’t freak out.  I’m not hitting on you.”

We all enjoyed a chuckle at the joke, even though Jack seemed a little uncomfortable having the King’s mate hanging off his arm.  We split up, another couple behind us a few people and then, down the line, two more warriors hanging off from each other.  The line moved a little faster than some clubs that I’ve been to, but it was still slow.

When my turn came I showed one of the many fake IDs I carry, this one identifying myself as Devon Jackson.  I giggled and rubbed up against Jack who fist bumped the bouncer and called him “Bro.”  We were admitted and I pushed away from Jack,

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