Four hours later and three jugs down, he staggers home. No pool, you know the Laird, they take that very seriously. Or am I just easily intimidated? Ho, I don't think so. Just friendly old queens in the beer garden who kept saying, suggestively, that I show them my nuts, as I plowed my way through handfuls of peanuts. Ha, ha, do those lines, actually, work? Have they ever worked?
It's amazing how "handsee" old queens can get. Ah well, good luck to them, I always think. I'll, probably, be the same when the time comes. When I was in my twenties, I did a few old queens favours, thinking it was good brownie points for when I was their age. You know, sexual favours in the bank. I think I eventually grew up. But, I always think of that when I'm with drunk, old queens, don't know why.
It was a gorgeous night, it was good to see Josh. He's been in Tasmania.
I shared two joints and I had two cigarettes. That's not too bad. Why is it that on the first day of the last three occasions of quitting cigarettes, someone has turned up with dope? If I believed in universal tests, I'd say I was being put to them, but I don't believe in such things, so I won't say it.
I woke at 5am, head thick, mouth dry. After a long piss, which I'm not too ashamed to admit I did like a girl, giddy in the dark and a long drink, I was back to bed. It's good that 5am pit stop, it takes the hangover away, a few hours later. But, of course, Missy heard me, so I'm back in bed, only a quarter awake to begin with, with madam sitting in the middle of my bed, purring like a chain saw, pushing her head against my hands demanding to be patted.
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