yet another mercenary nodeshell rescue
It was March 20th, I remember, because my friend Jerry had died the day before, the obstinate fool - and right in front of me. You can push those polar bears only so far.
Anyway, I was still pretty upset, even the next day, and went driving around downtown Austin with a bottle of Jim Beam. As a man in control of his emotions, I postponed imbibing and thought I would spend some time at the courthouse, where my great-gramma works as a DA. It was late, or early, however you want to take it - around four in the morning. She was already there, tenaciously masticating on the Bradley agreement, I suspected. Her car was there and the light was on in her office, not that I wanted to go in and visit. She's family, I love her, but she's like Lenin with a bun.
So I drank and walked around the back, but I wasn't thinking about Jerry, really, I was thinking about fish. There was a couple, younger than me, making out on the steps. I was a good 2/3 through the bottle by then, so I walked over there and asked them what they thought about fish. The guy said that he didn't want any trouble, that he wasn't opposed to fish, but I guess I wanted them see it my way, so I said (and I paraphrase myself) "Oh really? Open your EYES, man!! They swim around, NAKED, in our lakes and streams, defecating in the very water our Lord gave us to make beer with. And they don't even have the common decency to bury their own dead. I'm never eating a fish again. Ever. I've had it with fish."
At that point, I was tired, angry, and more than slightly ill, so I staggered back into the driveway and found a large metal object that I used to support myself while I threw up. It turned out to be my great-grandma's 1981 Volvo sedan, the realization of which was like someone spraying ice-cold water on my balls, so I took off.
Yeah, I really miss Jerry.