I have news for you. I think Wednesday is the new Friday. Unfortunately, I am starting to think Tuesday is also the new Friday. As is Sunday. And Thursday afternoon. And, unless that’s someone else’s bottom-shelf bourbon soaking into my “Tuff Stuff” t-shirt, so is one hour ago.
Last night, against my better judgement, I attended a friend’s birthday party. (or, in typical new york fashion, a friend twice removed. just an excuse to be in a room full of familiar faces and vaguely familiar faces with which i wanted to trade up inter-personally.) It was getting late, and I knew what would happen. Smoke, drinks, screaming, getting cornered, starting, stopping, discovering where common ground ended, frowning over the price of an Amstel Light in a no-frills bar ($4.50 – don’t move here, please.), deliberating over my choice of Amstel Light in the first place, averting eyes, counting potential sleep hours backwards, realizing how few of these people (comics, mostly) even had a job to attend the following day, and wondering how much longer I would be able to stand on my feet. Pretty long, it turns out. But my eyes are red cinders and my skin is a smoke-dried rug. And whose scalp is sitting on my desk, drying in the sunlight? Crazy.
