Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk feeling woozy and discombobulated, which considering how close to death you felt all yesterday, Sunday, is the major improvement. Indeed, you are still not entirely certain how you got back home from the country, although you suspect that your college roommate’s husband, Texas John, the strapping big investment banker with the bald spot and the bankroll and the boots, drove everyone back to the city yesterday afternoon in his BMW sedan. Which would have made sense, as he was the only functioning member of the household Sunday morning. And to think, it all started so innocently on Saturday afternoon when your hosts suggested that everyone head over to this “little place near the county line” to have the few drinks, the little place which turned out to be the unironically named “Billy Jeff’s Arkansas Roadhouse”, which was somewhat surprising, considering this was deep in the Catskills. “John loves the place”, Amanda said, “it reminds him of a bar in New Braunfels.” And the next thing you know, it is midnight and you are standing on your chair trying to improvise several new dance steps to the David Allan Coe song, your balance hindered by the two bottles of Shiner Bock that you are holding (one in each hand) and from which you are alternating robust swigs. And then the band starts up with “Whiskey River Take My Mind” which you decide is the excellent suggestion, shouting at the barm ...
Anytime
Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk feeling woozy and discombobulated, which considering how close to death you felt all yesterday, Sunday, is the major improvement. Indeed, you are still not entirely certain how you got back home from the country, although you suspect that your college roommate’s husband, Texas John, the strapping big investment banker with the bald spot and the bankroll and the boots, drove everyone back to the city yesterday afternoon in his BMW sedan. Which would have made sense, as he was the only functioning member of the household Sunday morning. And to think, it all started so innocently on Saturday afternoon when your hosts suggested that everyone head over to this “little place near the county line” to have the few drinks, the little place which turned out to be the unironically named “Billy Jeff’s Arkansas Roadhouse”, which was somewhat surprising, considering this was deep in the Catskills. “John loves the place”, Amanda said, “it reminds him of a bar in New Braunfels.” And the next thing you know, it is midnight and you are standing on your chair trying to improvise several new dance steps to the David Allan Coe song, your balance hindered by the two bottles of Shiner Bock that you are holding (one in each hand) and from which you are alternating robust swigs. And then the band starts up with “Whiskey River Take My Mind” which you decide is the excellent suggestion, shouting at the barm ...