Sometimes you just have to.
In one night: An older gentlemen — who claims to be heir to millions of dollars he turned down — tells me about his sexual predilection for old women and recites original poetry to me about how life’s easier lived with a good woman. Cute girls are not carded. A man with nice teeth speaks to me in broken Cantonese and climbs on the bar. A vagrant makes kissy faces through the window. I drink something roughly the color of radioactive waste. I play an enthralling game of Peggle on an iPhone that does not belong to me. A cop walks in. I coax a tequila hater into trying 901. I get scolded for taking photos (and am just drunk enough to not care). I witness a lot of manhugs and middle fingers. I hear all kinds of stories about Beale Street regulars and, essentially, what amounts to their absurd sit-com lives. I barely sleep.
Sometimes I want to get off this crazy thing called Earth.
I just danced the entire time I brushed my teeth for bed.
Margaritas in celebration of mortality! I think A would delight in the darkness of that statement.
1:25 AM me: wtf happenednef?
if everything goes awful
me: you and jr are simulanaeoouslyonfsusuoud
Nick: did you im the wrong person?
me: i habe no idea; i am wasted
Nick: you kids and your drinking
i got a new nancyboy newsletter
me: fobsk off 0r 3htwhatevs
Nick: you’re too drunk to type
im saving this
me: i am too\
Nick: did you see a show?
me: no, save it. i have to log off.
me: ok ye’\