 Funny how
welding all day makes me want to drink the night away.
So I stop by 7-11 (so named b/c it used to be open from the unbelievably
convenient hours of 7 a.m. to 11 p.m.) for a six of
Rainier Ale
tallboys in the red and green Christmassy cans. Stopped by the weiss
haus where John Berry showed
me quietly luminous painting on miraculously scraped-clean mapboard. Sat
on porch for a while with Weiss, Adria, and Jessica discussing pros of
Nader vote, until Monte, Kristina,
Chrystya, Jjed arrived fresh from Costco with jumbo pepperoncini jar and
stack of blank audio CDs. They drove on to dinner and I pedalled away home
where en route I discovered the hard way that
Black
Rock really will fuck up a bike--rear hub seized and I went over the
handlebars, crushing my basket. CDs and last Rainer skitter across street,
jeans tear and chain ring scratches knee
tiger-claw style, the whole scene rendered
comic by the wheep-wah of inadvertently squeezed black-bulbed bike horn on
otherwise silent street. After dinner, a different 7-11, red wine for Kristina
and a 4-pack of
new
screwtop plastic bottle pints of Miller. We sat on corner as cops passed,
secure in knowledge that we could quickly seal our open containers. Eventually
landing at Steve's, we sat in front by bamboo cage watching clouds like ice
sheet overtake the moon and reading about our birthdays in an
eerily
accurate book, where under health for mine (Sep 16--hint hint) it said
I was prone to accidents and sporting injuries. But just because I've
fallen off a ladder, burned myself
cartwheeling over a flaming wheelbarrow, scratched my cornea
dumping ash barrels
and done an endo all in the past 6 weeks doesn't mean I'm clumsy.
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