We had brunch at the Triple Rock Social Club this morning, the sort of place where our usual waitress has a fully tattooed face, and the regulars at the bar are drinking shots of whiskey at 10:00 AM and looking like they haven't slept or bathed since 1986. I love this place. The portions are huge, the bloodies are strong and cheap, they have an actual jukebox loaded with everything from Black Flag to Otis Redding, and they always get my cheesy potatoes just right.
I was walking to the restroom (dimly lit, painted black, covered with graffiti, sometimes there are doors on the stalls, sometimes not) when I overheard the following snippet of a conversation taking place at the bar:
"...Man, there was blood and vomit everywhere..."
Oh, to be young and reckless again.
Whoop it up tonight, my little monkeys, whoop it up hard. Just try and keep the important fluids in you, not out.