Probably won't go to any shows anytime soon as a result of being destitute. Finance, both personal and institutional, hurts my head. Hence the drink. At the second smoking bar, a girl bitched about the excess cigarette smoke and then asked for a menthol. At another, there were issues over the music. There was no point in explaining to the leering longshoreman that just because a bartender is female with tattoos doesn't guarantee she likes Slayer.
Missed connections on the subway line are meant to be. Don't expect anything else. On the regional ride home, not one but two parties violated the quiet car policy. They both acted as if no wrong was committed, and for that a swift kick in the head is deserved. Or at least thats what the conductor's look said as he shuffled by, with his head hung low as if he was wearing a prominent Southern rapper's chain underneath his emblazoned navy vest.
Going home early could represent defeat for most, but not this one. Twice as much booze will be consumed, and possibly a peanut butter sandwich.
The 11 PM subway crowd is all children, and old folks who can't handle their alcohol. They all look at my ass in a sexual manner which only confirms that there is something wrong with them. A mother worries about incurring roaming charges on her phone.