November 10 — Beer tired
The IPA hits like a sleeping pill. Taf is talking about Curt but I can’t follow him for more than a sentence or two. His thoughts are articulate but melt into generalities as they go into my brain. I’ve said my piece, the dudes are on my side. I know what must be done tomorrow.
My glass on the coffee table is still half full. I wonder how there’s still that much left in it. I don’t want to drink it, but my budget doesn’t allow for much beer money and I don’t want to let it go to waste. My eyelids fall and rise. Fall and rise. Heavily. The sluggard moves his hand to the glass, struggles to bring it back to his mouth.
Taf is still talking. I throw on a sympathetic look as a mask. It’s really just weariness. Best go to bed.