A good Ladies' Night, he told me, while we stopped so he could light a cigarette, is a sure thing. The girls drink cheap, they drink a lot, and they let you take them home. All you have to do is show up and drink too.

            Sure, more than that, he said, as we stepped back into the flow of the sidewalk, the after-dinner, pre-bar shuffle. You have to dress alright, and listen, and sometimes make a joke. But drink is the important thing. If you aren't drinking too then they don't trust you. You have to be drinking.

            I mean, what you want is sex, but you don't just ask for sex, and you certainly don't pay for sex — that would be abominable. So you go to Ladies' Night and, instead of paying the lady for sex, you pay the bar for the drinks. And if you tip the bartender well, and she sees it, then that helps — it's good to appear generous.

            So essentially you're paying the bar and a bartender for the sex you're hoping to get from the girl. And the bar won't keep all that money — a lot will go back to the makers of the drinks, the brewing and distilling companies. So a lot of what you spend on sex goes to the billionaires back at Bacardi and InBev and so on, and some to the workers they employ. And some of it goes to taxes, so you're paying the state and federal governments, too, for the sex you want and might or might not get from the girl at the bar.

            And before that you paid Banana Republic, or Urban Outfitters, or whomever, for the clothes the girl might like. And you paid the barber for the haircut she might like.

            And the other wild part is that she's done the same. Because the girl at the Ladies' Night who wants to be taken home has also paid for her clothes and her haircut — probably more than you have. And she might’ve put on makeup, which you definitely didn't do. She's spent more time and money getting ready than you have, all because she wants something from you, too. And let's call that sex.

            But not from you in particular, just someone like you. Let's not go into why people have sex, what they want from it, only just that they have it, and that a lot of the time they start at Ladies' Night, with the girl picking whomever of the group is dressed the way she likes and who manages to start a conversation with her first and to hold that conversation until you're both drunk enough that you're ready to go some place and have sex, sex the prize for whoever can say interesting things for long enough — how much have you spent on your education so you would know interesting things to say to girls in bars?

            Of course, you don't do all these things just for sex. And neither does she. But it's funny to think how sex is the reason for a lot of it, and how much money you pay to other people so you can get something from each other, you and the girl. And you work so hard, sometimes, to get that money. Her probably more than you.

            Anyways, he said, as we came to a stop and he put his cigarette out on a wall, I don't envy you single men. And with the apps nowadays — I've seen the apps — you have to travel the world and take pictures in interesting places so you can put them up and look interesting yourself. You're paying Nikon for sex. And you're paying American Airlines for sex. And Patagonia or REI or North Face or Samsonite. And Apple and AT&T. And book stores and MoMA. Restaurants. Nike. You want to come up for a drink? I think Susan's home — she'd love to see you.

            Next time, I said. I have to run. Alright, he said. You have a good time then. I told him thanks. He smiled at me like we both knew something we weren't going to say. I doubt we were thinking the same thing. And be safe, he said. Will do, I said. Then he entered the code to his building, the door buzzed, and he went inside.

“Walking Home” appeared in Volume 6 of The Rational Creature