$3. This is not a large amount in the wallet, certainly not enough to go adventuring for beer. It’s scary to even walk into a bar, actually and have to rely on someone else for the order is…unwise. If it’s more than I have, I’m stuck using a credit card-and better men than I have gotten in trouble due to credit card abuse.
Oh shut up, you. Quit your whining. You’re able to go out for a beer-that you have to go to a dive bar and drink PBR is NOT a reason to bitch and complain, whine to your readers, ‘Oh noes, I’m so poor.’
But that’s part of it. Until midnight I am a man who feels an ache in his stomach, worried about the price of a beer. That’s really no way to live. I considered writing a long excuse about how I couldn’t head out tonight. Should I try to go to a nicer place and hoping I can order a smaller version of whatever has been picked? I don’t want to stiff the bartender on a tip.
I’m surrounded by Patriots fans. Fuck ’em. Their howling about a decimation of the Jets feels like gloating, not triumph. What’s the point of that? If the game isn’t even a good game, what glory, victory?
You are whining. Hush you and drink your beer. It’s sweet to the point of leaving a weird aftertaste and you don’t like it. It practically has a sour backwash, your mouth is rebelling against the sweetness so. You’re making me suffer though the glories of your awful beer and for what?
To write. But you chose this adventure and you’re getting away with it. Be happy.
Bah. Happy. I’m working the second job of hawkeye-ing my finances and the month has gone just a little too long, the expenses just a little too high, my efforts for naught. Who needs it? Fuck, living like that probably sucks a good 10 years off your life, more than drugs and women ever will.
You say this like it’s someone else’s fault you’re $2 short for the month.
That’s what I thought.
It’s just frustrating. You know it, I know it, everybody knows. It’s that extra strain that nobody likes but probably becomes background noise after awhile, especially if the hole you’re in slowly grows. It’s two dollars this month. What is it next? The month after that?
And the point of worrying about this is…?
The man next to me has papers in a manila folder in front of him: he’s focused and busy. Asking him what he was drinking was a fairly significant intrusion on his space. I’m at least reasonably lucky; he was drinking on the cheap too-though I got the impression he isn’t sure himself what he ordered, as his answer to my question was ‘the local piss’. Maybe he’s new here, looking for a space where nobody knows his name and he can get some work done. I quickly explain what I’m doing and he asks “Did I pass?”
Oy. You’re boring people again.
Could be, could be. It’s always good to know when it’s time to leave, and I think that time has come.