Word Count: 297
After their first meeting, it would be weeks before they saw each other again. Ford Prefect never spent long in the same place, didn't have any reason to, but seven bars after the …… he still couldn't get that incredibly dull, brown haired earthman out of his head.
"He was borrrring." Ford slurred to the barmaid. "Very boring." He insisted, not noticing her exasperated eye roll as she set another foaming drink in front of him. When she had left, he continued to himself, "A completely boring, boring, boring, drunk."
Ford had been with his share of earthmen and woman, for sure. All kinds. But it had never really mattered to him, never been important to him. He hadn't even slept with this particular earthman. It had only been a kiss.
And it had been, the stranded hitchhiker mused over his piss tasting drink, the best kiss of his life. Which was saying something, definitely. Ford was a very experienced Betelgeusian.
It hadn't really just been a kiss though. It had been a build up; the way the Englishman's lips had quirked into polite smiles, the way his abnormally normal fingers had gripped the beer glass as he raised it for one of Ford's inane toasts, the way those dull, plain eyes had gradually glazed with alcohol.
All of that Ford had liked. Really liked. Liked in a way that he couldn't remember ever liking anything before. Liked in a way he never imagined he'd be able to like something on this planet.
So Ford Prefect, downing the last of his drink and throwing down money, stumbling out of the bar and stumbling more down the street, decided that if he was going to be stuck on this miserable planet then he might as well enjoy it.