Tomato, Tomahto

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?”
“Wait. Let me think….No, I didn’t call you. That explains why she was in the yard though.”
“Shit,” he shook his 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.”
We had a few more rounds.
Then left around dusk.
I think.