(In memory of my friend Curtis B)
We were elbowed at the bar by Noon. My friend with the bigger tattoo sleeves. Both of us there to cure our hangovers.
“Damn, I’ve been on a bender,” he said. “Are you sure you didn’t call me last night?”
“I’m sure,” I said, tipping back the first beer.
“You didn’t ask me to let your dog out?”
“No, but that explains why she was in the yard this morning.”
“Shit,” he shook his bald head.
We finished our drinks silently, both somewhat doubting our own stories.
“Man, when I drink whiskey I forget everything,” he said.
“Isn’t that the point?”
“Well, I thought it was to have fun.”
“TomAto, TomAHto,” I said.
We had a few more rounds.
Then left around dusk.
I think.