Continuing from earlier…
After watching Friday Night Comedy Hour at Kill Your Idol then smoking a few cigarettes on the street outside while chilling with the comedians from the show, there was some debate about whether food was the priority or beer was the priority. I was on the food side of the fence. After a pitcher of beer from Lost Weekend next door, a cat appeared in a bicycle basket.
Back to the humans
And then the cat and his owner left.
Eventually, we left and headed to a bar on Espanola Way. An Irish pub I’ve never been to. The name of it? Not a clue. But before we even got ten feet from where we were, I decided that I should definitely take a photo of this bicycle. Why? Here’s another place where “not a clue” works as an answer.
The night ended not longer after and I passed out at home pretty quickly. All in all, it was an awesome night. But then I woke up the next morning. To this.
“No, no, no, no, no. That did NOT happen,” I say to myself.
As I looked down at my new jeans laying crumpled on the floor – jeans I had JUST bought the day prior specifically to wear out that night – I realized that not ONE of my friends during any part of the night bothered to tell me that I had failed to remove the big-ass size sticker running down the left pant leg. Not one of them.
So I was wrong. I don’t have nice friends at all. My friends are horrible, horrible people. Still, it was a fun night.