Tonight I am hanging out with my worst enemy, which is myself. I am going to do a hundred pushups and then go to Missouri Lounge and sit at the end of the bar and get three of those $5 Tecate-and-tequila combos. Don’t you dare think that I’m going to read a book or write something. Lord no. I am going to stare at my own miserable face in the mirror across the way, or look at my shoes, or draw mushroom clouds on my napkin.
I know a good gutter about a half mile away, and I reckon I’ll end up there sooner or later. It is a fine gutter, as far as gutters go. I am not an expert on gutters, but then probably I am about as close to an expert as you can get. That’s got to count for something. Actually maybe it means absolutely nothing at all. Whoops.