I'm not sure how or why I visited. I was engaging in a consumption-bent hallucination. The bartenders wore de rigueur slut/furry animal/naughty schoolgirl/angel/ butterfly slut halloween costumes.
I arrived in gold. I wore gold and the herd noticed. I formed an ad-hoc committee of Friday night revelers. A man whose hair was combed back with dollops of pomade application suggested we were punishing social Darwinists. We left when the Cavaliers could not secure a marginal lead by halftime. Our beers were served slowly and with a resigned disappointment from the costumed staff. Maybe I am older and less engaged with the sterile bile that the satellite radio calls country music. I do not have intention for offending herds with metaphorical stories of lost love and drunken malady. You may lose your job at the dealership and sans burger and bucket of beers for some time. One of e-very seven Americans on food stamps. Give me a chance here buddy.