It's good to hear my
lifestyle vindicated on the
hallowed pages of Everything as that of a
philosopher. Me and my barfly buddies appreciate it, but fact is, we don't
philosophize much. Lots of
grim silence some nights; other nights there's conversation, and often it's funny or even
deep, but none of us feel like we're
doing good.
It's the damn liquor...it calls to me, makes me needful. Licking my lips just thinking about it...the barkeep who works Sundays is fond of Taco Bell; I keep meaning to bring her a sack of instant goodies. But you know...the Taco Bell is several blocks in the wrong direction. So there you have it: I need my spirits, she ain't getting no burritos.
I should treat my friends better, but the liquor calls and I must obey. All my friends are bartenders, they understand.