Or Confessions From A Drunken Friend

I was sitting comfortably on a two-person sofa, which requires putting your feet up. Monday Night Football sucked, but being on the Coast, RAW still wasn’t on yet.

Without Mets highlights, Baseball Tonight kinda loses its true meaning in September. Just as I turned to USA to watch the last minutes of ‘Walker, Texas Ranger’, the phone rang.

”Hello?”

”Wassup Kid? What you doing?”

”Nothing, just sitting on my ass.”

”You got any flow?”

”Like $8. We could catch a rack and chill in the park.”

”Nah, Let’s hit The Ship, get a couple of pitchers. Pick me up in 15 .”

”Straight.”

 

When we got there, the game had already ended and a couple of cats had already locked down the pool tables. We got a pitcher and chilled.

Kenny saw a cat he knew from way back in the day. Actually, back in the day was three weeks ago when they had both fucked with their girls in two separate cars by the park, but that’s another story.

He was looking (and as I’ve said before; once a dealer, always a dealer) and Kenny helped out. He payed off a bud and bought the next pitcher.

Mike and Marc from Chi-Town stepped in and gave me shit for picking the Giants that week. Last time I saw him, he asked me for advice and like an idiot, he listened to me. We sat down and ‘kicked it’ while Kenny played pool.

Mike’s girl, Ann, was sweating the shirt and looking at me with those ‘Fuck Me’ eyes. I found out later that was Mike’s girl. Once again, I digress…

Convo varied until I turned it personnal. Turns out he had a job he couldn’t keep and needed someone with a brain. $12 dollars an hour was better than $7.50, so I perked my ears up. Plus the girl had some more info for me later one.

They bounced without their smokes, so I lit one up with his lighter. He came back for the lighter.

 

Kenny wanted a shot of Jagermeister and The Ship didn’t rock that way, so we moved up the block. The dive was in full effect from the start and two older chicks eyed us from the back of the bar. I picked a couple of songs off the jukebox and we headed back.

The next two hours seemed like 5. Millie, Kristi and the blonde were all twice our age, but chilled out just the same. I’m telling you, I love these older women. I keep getting older – they stay the same age.

Last call was a silent one, but it came all the same.

 

”You know you’re sitting in Albie’s chair. He’s 60 and hasn’t moved from that chair for 40 years.”

”Yeah, it’s like the old West saloons. You can see the whole bar and your back is to the wall.”

”You seem like a really calm person. Really mellow.”

”I try to be.”

”When was the last time you really got fucked? I mean really fucked?”

”I have 6 kids and I love my husband.”

”You know, you should really go far. You were quiet and observant the whole time.”

”Have a nice flight.”

”Are you cool to drive?”

 

We got Kenny’s pipe and headed for the park. Smoking in public is one thing, but smoking out underneath the stars is a completely different feeling. We climbed a batting cage and chilled in the net.

Drunks are a weird bunch. You know sometimes they get emotional and say too much. But they don’t really lie unless necessary. Maybe that’s what Kenny opened up like a book, but then again I should have seen this coming.

There is always the point when the sponsor finally fully accepts the guest into his or her world. Like Pacino and Depp, I was in and there was no looking back. It’s the kind of life choice that I was looking for; it’s temporary permanent. Sometimes plans come together too perfect for words…