Drunk Monday.
What is this moment. I am doing everything wrong. Monday is now my Sunday. At least I’m not smoking cigarettes. And then there is this drinking. Beanies’ Brew. A coffee brown ale. Local small-town brew that I can’t afford.
I should be better. Avoiding. On the health line to the ideal. I’m not aboard.
I just don’t leave town. Bad habits are what keep me here. In a good way.
It’s a small town in the prairies and I’m alone, playing with darts that can really poke. No Velcro! The small town bar in what should be an abandoned hotel. It’s late afternoon. Monday afternoon. Drunk Monday.
The bartender —Chinese agent?— comes over and says something about turning on the light over the dartboard. He turns on the lights. I say, that’s probably safer. Yeah, he kinda genuinely laughs.