when it all goes wrong

Today I’m heading to Tate Modern to see a new stranger : 20, African descend, NY vibe - I expect this to be a very relaxing rendezvous.

*** few hours later***

Today’s date was a waste of time. It is a pity that such high percentage of strangers I meet is so far behind on the intelligence scale.

We met at the Tate Modern gift shop, (he was 50 minutes late…shame), and then we went to see the gallery, or better said, I forced him to take a walk among the displays. “WTF is this shit” is probably the most accurate summary of his input.
Strangely, I catch myself comparing multiple aspects of the evening to the ones with C., and as it progresses I started getting a little sentimental. 
To my disappointment, Dalí’s work, the one I genuinely wanted to see is not on display at the time, so I decided not to torture my companion any longer. We walked across the bridge, hopelessly trying to push through the mass of people. Soon I realized that the communication skills of this fella are simply non existent. Maybe it was caused by his incomprehensible accent, but it was only when we arrived at the Goodge street and took turn into sparingly lit street with poorly constructed cheap flats that I realized what I’ve gotten myself into. That sometime during our “conversation” I unknowingly agreed to crash his flat for a few hours.

Somebody. Help. 

We are arriving in a room distantly resembling human accommodation. This stranger definitely  doesn't suffer from a claustrophobia related problem.
The window is broken. Glancing at my reflection I secretly wipe a tear from my left eye at the thought of the beautiful view at C.’s apartment. 
I’m forced to sit on an smelly old couch and watch some crappy movie I don’t give a damn about. Through dirty 3D glasses. I still manage to hold my composure and act on. I start wondering… how much longer…

Highlight of the evening: we have a smoke.

I’m (indirectly) forced to eat cheap cookies. I’m (literary) forced to drink cheap vine. 
I nostalgically reminiscence about C.’s food preferences.
Stranger is high and drunk. I’m down and completely aware of my situation. It’s getting late… and the stranger’s hand is on my knee. 
I suddenly appreciate C’.s ignorance (yes, that’s how bad my mental state is right now).

Now I have two options: get up now, make the stranger feel bad and leave, or wait, make both of us feel bad and leave after that (& miss my train and come home late).
For reasons I’m ashamed to admit, I chose the latter. *
Unfortunately, everything goes as expected. Stranger’s pathetic attempt to kiss me puts the final nail into the coffin of tonight’s experiment. The big finale consists of apologies, awkwardness and the routinely: “nothing personal, I don’t kiss on the first date, I have to go, I hope to see you soon (never), bye!”. 

The sense of relief I felt when I collapsed in the tube was… just beautiful.

*No help denying it - I’m just being WEAK. Will have to work on it.