Irving Texas –

Kind friends and companions,

The apartment formerly known as “The Irish Guys’s,” has been invaded. 1026, or “The Bar,” is currently under attack from a malicious form of mold. Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by, my mind been bent on dreaming of the perfect glass of single-malt scotch, I was awoken, most rudely, most injuriously, by a frothy frenetic coughing fit. It was at this time that I decided to get out of bed to escape the onslaught of this malicious and nefarious mold colony. Stumbling on melons as I passed, and ensnared in Sercer’s clothing, I somnambled out into the ante-chamber. Much to my dismay, both the flannel and pink-flower couches were occupied by foreign peace-keepers (The Pig and Paul Gautie). I had few options left. No man could dare return to the mold colonies, nor does any man in his right mind take the The Pig’s bed, for that would be certain doom. And so I, in a mostly comitose state, felt the urge to venture into the other half of “The Bar,” into the omphalos, the belly of “The Bar” (formerly known as “The Irish Guys’s”) into the very bar of “The Bar!”
I stood in the midst of the underworld listening to history’s voices calling to me from the bookshelves and from the bottles scattered about the bar-top. The window was open, and I felt the cold November morning air. It was the cold dreary November of my life. I grabbed the Native American pillow and a red plushy blanket from the ante-chamber, and roosted on the bar couch.
Strange vigil I kept that morning in the bar, as a heard outside the starting of cars, the bustle of the real world, where some people actually wake up that early to go to work. I then heard the alarm clock, that the pig had strategically placed next to his eardrum, going off for 3 hours.
Do I wake, or do I sleep?
Is it negative capability or positive incapacity?
Sercer is a trucker.
It’s almost Thanks
Giving
Break.

~PB