...and how they're not all bad
so i'm taking a later train home tonight and i pass out. i am never going to finish this effing book if i can't stay awake. anyway i awake to the text message stylings of the mofo asking me if i've finally given up the ghost to get some sleep. you see, all of my vegas drinky talk has alerted certain parties to the notion that there is a problem in the making here. and i will only address it once and never again (dub). accounts of the bastard's drunken misadventures are by and large a farcical take on what actually happened that night or on a given night in question or whatever. now granted all of that crap that i wrote about in vegas really did happen, and more and that by no means constitutes a slow and steady descent into alcoholism.
that said, i arrive back into the waking world to a text messgae from the mofo asking if i'm taking the night off and i say yes and then we exchange lines from the life aquatic (good thing i'm paying for the 25000 messages a month plan). anyway i notice that there is this 90 year old bluesman and he's not looking too lucid. apparently he missed his connection. th econductor then helped him up and gave him a note to give to the conductor of the next jamaica bound train to help him find his connection to far rockaway. then 3 gentlemen helped him off the train and presumably onto the jamaica bound platform. you know it doesn't take too much work to help someone out. well played gentlemen. well played.