waxangel

Listen:

This past weekend disguised itself as a pain in my ass, only to reveal a true visage that helped a bit to reaffirm my faith in myself.


After working a Friday night shift that exceeded my fiduciary expectations with regards to the persistent drizzle that stamped itself upon that early June evening and extended its welcome well into the wee hours of the succedent Saturday morning, I found myself roused from a well-deserved slumber by none other than some friends having a picnic in Prospect Park, not 10 minutes by BMX from my house. They insisted I come, hurry, and bring a sheet/blanket for people to sit upon.

I hung up on them.

But still managed to motivate myself out there, have a great time, and convince luna to come with me to a poker tournament in midtown afterwards. He cashed out and split early, but I finished in 3rd place, with a tidy profit, and would have finished better if not for a bad beat on the river that knocked me out, even as a 92% favorite.

On my way back downtown to meet luna and UnnecessaryZ, flying down 5th Ave. on my BMX, still riding the high from winning, I hit a pothole and blew a tire, and had to try and unicycle the rest of the way to the Shack. Whereupon I turned "awesome at poker" into "awesome at Soul Calibur 2" and scared Z back to that weird borough he keeps insisting exists between Roosevelt Island and Shea Stadium.

Now there are bloodthirsty cats beginning an epic showdown right outside my bedroom window.