Tuesday, March 13, 2018


Give him credit; G-Anne remembered my drink, even when it got wild. Amber ("New Amber") sang a few classics, Jennifer did something punk-o-gothic, and Paul sang three numbers while waiting for the bridge to open up. Because of a suicide attempt that ran into traffic and got splattered (as he had heard it), only one lane had been open till after eleven.
We had a lovely discussion about traffic accidents.
While he "paused" for an improvement.

Of course I didn't sing. For me it was a nightcap at the end of the day, close of the week. I was there with a pipe and spent much of that time downstairs in the portico, because karaoke is, very much like the yowling of randy tomcats, best appreciated from less than close quarters.
Like nearly outside while smoking.

My workweek consists largely of conversations that go nowhere. "Do you remember that thing?" "What thing?" "You know, that thing. The thing that, you know?" "Thing?" "Yeah, that thing!"

Thing, thing.

When I left it had started to rain, again.
I continued smoking once I got inside.
She was asleep, and wouldn't notice.

G-Anne poured me a courtesy smidgen. Upon leaving I lit the last pipe of the evening. Two days off. I shall not think of the 'thing'.
You know, that thing.
The "thing".

There were duck bones in the ashtray.
I had entirely forgotten.

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