Friday, November 27, 2009
Last night the bar was full of beautiful girls, stunning punker girls. Some heavily tattooed, some heavily chested, some just heavy, and each with a unique sense of purpose. I was only half-cocked and sticking to beer, since New Year’s Eve is really not a good night to get hammered. There’s just too much potential for disaster. So I sat quietly with my wife and some new and old friends at an upstairs table. There was a beautiful red-haired, red-lipped, pale girl telling us a story about getting her nipples pierced. It sounded nice. Better than the music that was playing on the juke box. She drank, breathed smoke, and tossed about armchair philosophy with us. Some things were relevant, some things not. Everybody is a moralist. Everybody rationalizes. It’s all goofy and pointless. There wouldn’t be any insanity for us that night, just talk. That was all I really needed. I was content in it. Today, I don’t even have a hangover as a memento.