I got a text message on Sunday. It came from one of the good timers. See, I have these friends that remained, for obvious reasons, in states far from the California that vanished me. When I roll through Chicago, we meet up. Their title implies what ensues...
I made the drive to the city of...I know Brotherly Love is Philly, we must be Big Shoulders...whatever the fuck that means. We slapped hands and faces, cracked a handle-less handle of Jack and were off with stories of the ball fields that left us behind and the women we’ll forever chase. And it was good. Steel wool couldn’t have ripped the smile from my face.
We showed up to the first bar around midnight...ordered five Jameson’s, five chaperones. Mine was a Guinness. We either saluted health or, most likely: douchebag, cocksucker, motherfucker.
Just as I blew out Jamie’s pinch, I noticed across the bar another familiar group. The high school equivalent. Our reunion: Jager and Sam Adams...brewer, patriot.
From there, I bounced...to, fro. The rounds came hard and fast on two fronts until I slipped into a state of composure so far beyond drunk that the body gives up. Drink through drunk, come out clean on the other side. These are the things I tell myself late at night, between dripping charm and spitting gravity.
The lights came up around 2. My high school and college baseball coaches used to say that nothing good happens past midnight. And I get it, okay. Tommy, Itch...I knew what you were getting at. I always did, it’s just that...come on, boys. Let’s compromise and settle on 2, just as the lights at the first bar came up. I should have listened, but then again...
I wouldn’t have hopped to another bar, one that stayed open until 4.
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I wouldn’t have had the bonding moments and laughs that no one will ever remember.
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I wouldn’t have had my face smashed into the sidewalk by a member of our country’s elite armed forces.
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I wouldn’t have bled all over Chad’s white? shirt.
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I wouldn’t have spent a half hour combing the city with the rapid response South Side brawlers Flynn called in. They need a name...Cops and Maglites. I know at least 8 people who will get that.
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I wouldn’t have been cut deep by threats of excommunication from the woman of my heart who despises(kick to the cock style) fighting.
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Just before the sun came up, I found a spot on the floor to close my eyes...and remember, actually remember breaking into hysterical laughter. Wouldn’t have had that either.
...
So I’m off to wander...more than usual. It’s going to go a little something like...
Paris, Munich, Prague, Amsterdam, Brussels, Barcelona, Nice, Monaco, Florence, Rome, Athens, Cape Town.
At least that’s the skeleton. Expect broken bones...but hopefully, only in metaphor.
