“Do you have anything in a nutty brown ale?”
What a douche bag. He is talking to a waitress in an airport sports bar and he has droplets of whatever he was drinking last clinging to his supposed to make me look older beard. Later, when he starts making the inevitable cell phone calls, I will find out his name is Brandon. His parents destined him to be a douche bag.

I had a bloody mary for an appetizer, since it took a half hour for the hamburger I ordered to arrive. The second bloody mary was the third course, since it came after the entrée. The timing in this joint seems to be more than a bit off. It’s a sports bar in an airport, you douche bag, were you destined for that?

The first thing I said today was “I don’t think my boyfriend would like that.” It’s 8am and I have decided I want to make my last coffee at home. I go to get milk at the bodega on the corner, the one where the legless Yemeni kid scoots around on his knuckles, you can tell when he’s in residence, he leaves his wheelchair at the one step up outside. He’s not there this morning, but Cracky is. He turns from the counter when I come in, flicks his new lighter in my face and says “ I love you! I want to marry you!”
“I don’t think my boyfriend would like that”
“Fuck you boyfriend! He a pussy!”
“I don’t think he would like that either.”
Fucking good morning, don’t think you can fool me about where you live, you douche bag.