Periphery

A colleague of mine, a friend I worked with side by side, a person on my periphery of knowledge, on the periphery of things and people I know in this world, died on Friday the day after Thanksgiving. I didn’t find out until cyber Monday, a night when the Houston Texans beat the Tennessee Titans with a forgettable scoreboard, not that anyone will remember, unless one of the players turns out to be a serial killer or murdered by their mistress.

I was sad for exactly however long the elapsed time for me to get drunk drinking Moscow Mules. Then I lived on drunk existential time until the next morning, tomorrow.

DRUNK EXISTENTIAL TIME: I finally feel good about my second divorce. I feel like I loved fully for the only time in my life. Shelby might feel differently.

Moscow Mule: I bought two tin cups, probably larger than what is served at any bar. The recipe is simple- Vodka (I prefer Tito’s Handmade Vodka) mixed with ginger beer and freshly squeezed lime juice, not that I have any limes handy or any lime juice. I mixed in more vodka than ginger beer.

On cyber Monday I bought a mesh ergonomic chair which I hope will help with my back problems.

My colleague who died is the only person I have ever known who had a subscription to Jet Magazine.

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About Rumrazor

Just a malcontent surviving in Los Angeles, working the news, writing the poetry, making the films.
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