Getting Badder
Well, the Renaissance ticket is good next weekend too. Overcast, this morning. I went into the office for an hour after breakfast at the usual cafe and spent the time burning a CD with a bunch of stuff I need here for the new server. An hour at the office was more than enough. Later I drove down to Jack London Square and bought a jug of Wild Turkey, the ordinary 80 proof Wild Turkey and not the 101. The eighty is fine in the evening when I'm the only one I need to impress and besides, these days, at my age, 101 is a myth for another age. I hope another age and not another time.
Wild Turkey 101, like Tequila, was always a hammer you could use to fight the fear, a rite of passage, so to speak, a rite of passage you can only repeat so many times before the eyeballs freeze and the liver fails. So, at some point, you stop. Besides, the fear changes as you grow older, the relationship becoming more like chess than boxing. Now days you splash a little Glenmorangie on your quivering lip and think yourself one hell of a fellow, no more need for bouncing off the walls and rude behavior, what with the knees gone and the bladder getting badder. God damned bladder. Getting badder.
|
