Page 518 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

TRACK NO. 14: LIKE A PRAYER (LIVE)

MILEY CYRUS

// ANDREW - SEPT 30, ’24 - 1:43 AM - SOME BAR OFF LUDLOW - LES, NYC //

“S’cuse me, bro.”

Andrew slides right past him, one hand pressed against his chest, eyes on the exit as the bathroom door swings shut behind him.

There’s a second where the hallway holds its breath.

With Andrew’s back turned to him, it could get ugly.

He usually doesn’t make it five feet out before it does.

Guy finds out his girl’s spreadin’ her legs for Andrew Harding, then decides the best course of action to get his pride back is by puttin’ Andrew through a wall. Yeah, that makes a shit ton of sense. Girl steps out, and the first instinct is to go hunt down the other guy and go mental—the one who’s not in the relationship.

But he also knows that ain’t how hurt works.

Hurt needs somewhere to go.

Peter clocks him from the bar.

Andrew tips his chin, signalin’ he’ll be out front.

Then it’s tunnel vision, head down, sneakers hittin’ sticky floors, not lookin’ at a soul. If that guy wants to follow him out? Good. He’ll take the fuckin’ punch. Hell, he might lean into it. Thank him after, too. Might be the most honest thing Andrew’s felt in years.

He shoulders the door open, and the weather hits back. September's that weird month where you’re freezing your ass off in a t-shirt the second the wind hits you, but you’re still sweatin’ through your jacket ‘cause the street is packed shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Some Bar Off Ludlow, man,” some drunk kid slurs into his phone over all the cabs honkin’ over nothin’. “Nah, if you’d shut the fuck up for two seconds and listen to me. The name of the bar, it’s literally called Some Bar Off Ludlow.”

Seconds later, the bar door swings open, and Peter barrels out with two girls trailin’ behind, gigglin’ drunk, heels slappin’.

Andrew gives the girls a once-over. “Two, huh?” He huffs out a laugh. “Just keep ‘em away from me. I ain’t responsible for nobody tonight. Not even my damn self.”

“Girls? What? What’re you talkin’ about—” His eyes are bloodshot, and he turns, squintin’ back at the girls, then jabs a thumb at them. “Yeah, nah, that’s just how it is.” He shrugs. “Can’t do nothin’ about it. It’s the Southie thing. My walk alone puts ‘em in heat.” He points at himself. “One minute I’m mindin’ my business, next thing I know they’re followin’ behind me like I got treats in my pocket.” He gestures back. “Ain’t their fault. They don’t know any better.”

A clipped laugh cuts from Andrew’s throat. “Bro, shut the fuck up. You don’t gotta narrate your own game.”

Five minutes later, Andrew Harding’s trapped, brick at his back with Peter’s brunette talkin’ in circles in his face. “Y’know what I think? I think what you do is respectful.” Lipstick smears her front teeth, booze ridin’ on her breath when she says, “Like, respectful nasty, y’know? You care. That’s rare. Prime example—I asked you for the Harding Special, you said no ‘cause you don’t go down on drunk girls. You actually give a shit. I bet you even ask girls for their name first.”

He scratches at the back of his neck, noddin’. “Nah, I don’t.”

She jabs her cigarette at him, eyes wide. “See. Exactly. Because names don’t even matter, it’s the soul inside. But like, have you ever been a woman? We got this need, y’know? It’s like, have you ever wanted every inch of you, like… worshipped? And not just suckin’ on your tits or whatever, I mean, like, your fuckin’ soul, dude. I dunno. Y’know what I mean?”

He drags his tongue along the inside of his cheek, eyes dippin’ to the sidewalk. “Nope. Never been a woman. Heard it’s real hard.”

“But what if you come across a real ugly vagina?”

He rolls his eyes. Swear t’God, girls judge pussy worse than guys do. Andrew never understood that shit.

A guy sees one—any one—and they go fuckin’ stupid.

Girl sees one, she starts comparin’.

But then again, girls were taught to hate their bodies.

“Nah. Pussies are like newborns. Every last one’s a beautiful fuckin’ miracle.” He glances back at her. “But lemme ask you a real one,” he says, liftin’ his chin, only ‘cause she’s drunk and can’t clock shit. “You ever give so much of yourself that even your skin can’t feel shit anymore?”