Sour Particles

I don't think anyone will figure out on their own what this photo is. But that doesn't matter because I know, and knowing is half the battle, or so I was taught when I was younger by cartoons. It's kind of hard for me to come to terms with how much has happened since then, since I was what I now consider as "young," check back in twenty years for a post referring to myself as young currently. Anyways, the TV had a dial, VCRs and stereos ate your favorite tapes for lunch, and nothing besides how the answering machine you just took apart worked internally was complicated. Or maybe that's an over simplification of it. But it sure feels that way sometimes.

Frenchy turned twenty-one, highlights (if you can call them that) of him for the evening would be loudly whispering to me "she's a big girl... ...she heard me huh?" referring to a large chested girl talking to us, falling down a 2 or 3 foot curb face first, getting kicked out of one bar and kicking a garbage can after I let him go on his way out causing two nearby bouncers to yell profanities and start to chase him down until we calmed them down, going in to the last bar and sitting down his elbow knocked over an amp which also took out a cello and caused half the people in the bar who were related to the band to want to beat him down, after leaving that bar punching a metal street sign and getting a big gash on one of his fingers, getting blood from his finger on everyone else around him and not even noticing he is bleeding at all, plus a lot of other things... ...and there was the random drunk dude who tried to start something with me, I pushed him aside and kept walking, then ten seconds later he's in a fight with everyone else, alcohol makes people act funny.