Chunky Friday Night

A man ought to make what he likes well known. People pay no attention at all to a man's dislikes. We dislike loads of shit. What gives a man pleasure, on the other hand, is nearly always as well remembered as a heavily played long shot.

Sonja, the Hammer and I met Hunky and Kitty in an empty pub's early morning parking lot this morning. Just us and a few splatters of chunky Friday night vomit. From there we headed off on a fine spring riverside walk.

When we at last returned to the parking lot it was time for lunch. "I'll meet you guys inside in a minute," Hunky said. "I have something for Beer in the car."

I was hoping for a bag of magic mushrooms but it was something even better. Hunky tossed it on our still drinkless table when he rejoined us. It was a copy of the B.C. Cancer Foundation's promotional magazine. I did not know diseases had their own magazines. On the cover of the magazine was a head shot of Anne Murray. She appeared to be leering at me.

I leered back.

I bought the beer. It was on sale. Green beer left over from last weekend. If the pub had a decent jukebox I would have played "Save the Last Dance For Me" on it. We had to settle for "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang."