“Stop eatin’ people’s old french fries, pigeon. Have some self-respect. Don’t you know you can fly?” - Tracy Jordan
In the morning I leave with a bundle of food and I get back home to get the guitar strum a bit and I do something which every human yearns to do every once in a while, because life is too boring and your, mine, my fingers end up aching by the end of the day and sometimes life is too long so we chop it, I chop it by drinking.
I like getting drunk how daft the world looks and how it’s a trip and you never know how will this reality show end and you laugh instead of cry most of the time, because no one ever wants to be a sad drunk unless you’ve been dumped by a girl, so I go alone after eating the mashed potatoes for breakfast just looking through the few vinyls I’ve bought in the past months from a guy who apparently chewed on the sleeves and spat them out and never touched the vinyls themselves.
“Beer.” I say, not being original and a girl pours me beer, her hair down and she smiles, charging me and taking a small peppermint candy from her pocket and serving more people booze and selling the tickets for the lottery, the free ride, baby.