Milwaukee on a Friday night.

Milwaukee on a Friday night.

I play Scrabble

with a ex-hippie.

He tells me he pre-dates them though.

63 years young.

I grocery shop

with a train hopper,

fresh from a Seattle eastbound.

He carries three knives

at all times.

I watch a punk rocker

with big blue eyes

make a four egg omelet

with five month old eggs.

I get my picture taken

with a man in a mask,

and feather boas.

It was his idea.

I drink

two liters of Robinade.

Old school lemonade,

because I don't drink.

And mostly because

I like Robin Yount's mustache.

And I sit

and dance

and laugh

with my best friend.

And those other new friends.

And thank...

thank them, that I'm alive.

Milwaukee. On a Friday night.