In One Piece
Friday. There was a movement afoot to meet at a pub in Concord late this afternoon after work. Concord. Lots of traffic driving to Concord. Less traffic, I suppose, driving back. I could take BART, but that would mean returning on BART to Oakland and then driving home and, well that, I think, is the difference when you get older. You don't want to set forth into the sunset to get drunk on a Friday in August the way you once did at the drop of a hat in your youth.
It's true. Life is downhill after sixty. I'm living proof. Here in Oakland.
So you're upset?
Not a whit. I've arrived home somewhat early and had a large bottle of Corona Extra la cervesa mas fina and I am feeling fine. The only trouble I can imagine is that I'll go down the street to Mr. Sushi later and have a large flask or two of hot sake to wash down some of their cleverly prepared fish. This could lead to my returning home to drink a second large bottle of Corona Extra la cervesa mas fina that even now sits cooling its heels in the refrigerator. There are other combinations that could transpire, some of them more interesting than others, but most of them leading to a hangover tomorrow morning and I want to keep my weekend clear. So I'm sitting here calculating my options (with Ms. Emmy on my lap).
Later. A compromise was negotiated with self. It involved going to the sushi restaurant, but settling on a not overly large bottle of Japanese beer rather than the hot “hit your head like a hammer” sake. The lone bottle of Corona Extra la cervesa mas fina is still sitting untouched in the refrigerator and I believe Saturday morning will arrive clear and unclouded if I'm able to talk myself into watching the movie that arrived from Neflix this afternoon and then calling it a night. Sometimes you have to plug your ears and tip toe carefully through the siren calls of madcap behavior that can surround you on a Friday just to survive in one piece.