10:06pm - At Formosa Cafe on Santa Monica, forced to yell at each other over the tumult of eleven stylishly young actor wannabes, with obnoxious laughs that only privilege can generate. All, I suspect, own iPhones.
I think another Moscow Mule, to compensate.
(Practicing my bitter writer’s persona)
(Also, slightly tipsy)
10:15pm - One girl, with particularly Irish curly hair, has a laugh like a machine gun descending the entire musical scale.
10:18pm - One guy is refreshingly quiet, but is busy being handsome. The guy next to him, though, is cultivating his class clown character and is making up for the audial lack. Starting to wince with each bout of hilarity.
10:20pm - All the males, except for the fuzzy-haired Seth Rogen stand-in, have exactly four days growth of cultivated facial hair.
I have decided to hate them.
10:25pm - It will take me at least two more glasses of water to be stable, so Bianca, having more alcohol tolerance but less tolerance for gleeful white people who would not be out of place in a Disaronno commercial, gives up and volunteers to drive.