The kindness of strangers? (And also something about vomit)

Is there actually a name given to this truism yet? Not that I would want to claim it for myself, though. Still:

    At any given nightclub rock show, it is inevitable that someone will vomit in a men’s room sink.

‘Nuff said on that, I suppose.

I stopped off at the larger bar in the Showbox, the one to your right as you walked in, not so much to erase the memory of the sink—I’ve seen enough of those in my time, and nothing compares to the disaster when AC/DC played the Tacoma Dome a few tours back—but to throw back a shot and leave my friends to enjoy the feeling of being cute. You know, newfound love and the sudden realization that one is no more immune to the mush factor than anyone else … I just figured they could use some time without me snickering impishly at every little kiss.
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