Last night I went out drinking.
I’d had a super mega ridiculously bad week at work and needed to drown my vocational sorrows under pints of vodka and the leers of bow legged women.
For the mot part it worked. I’m definitely happier today, but that’s besides the issue. I witnessed a bizarre little vignette last night.
I was sitting in a McDonald’s, half-timing between bars, and I saw first the most multi-culti little group of gay boys ever.They were like the UN of mo-ness. Cute.
But behind them in the window I saw a hipster wearing a scarf.
It was ninety fucking degrees last night. And it wasn’t even a little scarf, it was long. Like seventies era Dr. Who long. Argh it made me so angry for some reason. It’s summer! Leave your Billyburg passport in the bathroom with your stepped on coke and over tattooed girlfriend. She wont notice you’re gone.
While I was kvetching silently, another person passed my field of view. An old man. He looked just like my late grandfather. He was alone and in a McDonalds.
Where was this man’s family? Maybe I was just feeling pointlessly nostalgic for Pop. Surely not all old men have bouncing grandchildren affixed to their knees. Maybe he was an eighty five year old bachelor getting some eats before hitting the clubs in search of a snizz.
Then again, maybe he was every bit the lonely octegenarian he seemed to be. Maybe he sat at the same molded orange and tan feeding slab every night in the hopes that someone would accidentally drop their bag near him and strike up a spontaneous conversation, freeing him at least momentarily from the smothering loneliness that living in such close proximity to millions can breed.
I hoped he was on his way to APT instead.