What the F?
What kind of night was that?
Could I have crammed anything else in there?
Probably not.
I was stinko before I even got to Stage Nine, where I was hijacked by legions of Jager-imbibing minions.
The Lighthouse Choir and Burdocks rocked me in all the right ways... yeah.. like that ...that's how they rocked me.
I got way too excited, accidentally smashing a shot glass in my hand, followed by a crash course in Drunken First Aid.
(I was later informed that our little group finished every last drop of Jager in the bar. Sweet, time bending, memory eroding Jager.)
Then there was a shift in time/space and I was in another bar watching a different band altogether.
(Don't ask questions, roll with it.)
Then bluurrrry. Then I'm at a party somehow.
Still drinking somehow.
Then I blinked and I was in yet another apartment.
Drinking wine (I think?)
Then all of a sudden the sun came up (thank God for that because I wouldn't have made it very far in the dark in such an advanced stage of intoxication.)
I ran into one of my Tobacco Customers at the end of my street and talked about the merits of the first four Black Sabbath albums until my eyes crossed and my knees buckled and the Giant Magnet dragged my ass back to my apartment.
To crumple on the floor and reflect.
I couldn't remember much, but I had that feeling in my my spine that every conversation I had that night was quite possibly the most important conversation I'd ever have.
I take a sick kind of comfort in not remembering exactly how everything went down, it lends the evening a sort of mythic quality.
On one hand, I wish every night could be a night like that.
On the other hand, that would kill a man.
image from www.cartoonstock.com
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