Bum Rush

I would’ve chalked it up to being drunk, if I didn’t have two other people with me that heard it:

Bum (on W.6th): Hey, Mel! What’s up?

How the FUCK did some homeless man know my name? Again, if I were alone, I’d be standing there dumbfounded thinking he were some street prophet. Oh wise one, do tell…

Meanwhile, I was heading down to Panini’s for my usual grease & Pepperoni special, and I met up with two guys that were in town from Detroit. I showed them the light of the Panini’s neon sign. They were in great appreciation for greasy 3 a.m. bar food. It was unusually quiet for a night at P’s. No music, less than 10 people sitting around the happy sandwich makers. Then out of the silence, someone tortures me by playing “My Way” on the jukebox. Just one fucking song I did not need to hear right now and a seriously sad memory to go along with it. I seriously felt like throwing up (pizza, maybe?). Then the place returned to silence. Then I realized that Jen & I were the last two fucking losers left. Lights out! I turned my drive home into a Better Than Ezra CD moment:

Well, maybe I’ll call
or write you a letter.
Now, maybe we’ll see on the Fourth of July.
But I’m not too sure, and I’m not too proud…

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