Another night ending in a parking lot, but not so late nor staggering this time. I was able to avoid The Devil's Den I had feared though the calls were loud and fierce. Still, I may have regrets. Regrets can be inevitable, if you let them. I may regret not heeding the call. I could be a better reporter. I should always pursue the good story.
But this one is pretty tame. An Irish pub, gymroids, and some tame shenanigans. It was a terribly normal night.
I should have listened to the siren's call.
Now what?
Beats me. Paint the stairs? Tend the garden? I need to clean the fridge.
I'm enervated just thinking of it.
"Too much beer and wine, too many good times."
Not to mention the weed and the Joker product. Things get out of hand rapidly. Sooner or later, even when it's lame, some drunk shits his pants and the party's over.
It's a cautionary tale. Ignore it at your own peril.
I've no mind for writing this morning, it seems, so I'll leave you with this.
Three versions: hillbilly, country, and folk rock. No matter the culture. . . take your pick. I know you are not like me. I like them all. I can't make up my mind.
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