processed cheeze

born in england, raised in ireland, now in texas...? fucked up accent, indeed. i look to the right of me. he scrounges for money to pay his 6:30 tab; yet he pays no attention to the coins he mindlessly sorts and instead eyes the Sports section. i look to the left of me. the family has disappeared. how is it that they feel good about selling alcohol but don't allow smoke? is one worse than the other? regardless, there are still second-hand repercussions. right on. i judged it by the position of the...sun? no. virgin bloody mary with salt and water...whoa. take it easy, you two! did vince just say, "aight"? there's that texan showing through. headache. how to soothe it? more alcohol, of course! this morning's service...way too traditional, and yet a hint of liberalism. the two men in front of me held onto each other like anchors. but, i also knew they had another anchor. they were beautiful. i probably won't go back. reminds me of my past, a little. can't have that. i don't know why i bother. i get no familiar ring all day. i'll be the first to admit that it hurts a bit...what's my problem? am i allowed to say as i kick back my 2nd newcastle? and even when i'm drinking, i get business cards--"hi, my name is _____ and i work at ______ with the refugee and migration department. what i do is i go around and find jobs for newly-arrived refugees." people still don't know the difference between refugee and immigrant. wow, the place sure does fill up after 7pm. where's my little european/american misfit? busy. married. with a two-year-old son. ah, they stared the tv. olympics. nice. last day for victories. that would make a good band name, actually. last day for victories. it has a nice ring to it. I CLAIM IT! if i see it somewhere else, i'll come and kick your arse! men's volleyball. nice block! 23-23; it's anyone's game. broken glass. that's definitely coming out of someone's paycheck. it's kinda cold in here. did i mention that vince said i remind him of someone he knew from israel? is he flirting or is he just wanting a big tip? no pun intended. "your last name is quite fitting." hm. i'm taken. thanks, though. married man. and still, no ring. i pretend to check the time, but really, i'm looking for some sign of existence. that family has now been replaced by a new one. not as cute. no small baby to keep my attention. hmm...baby. no comment. how pathetic does one have to be to subject themselves to sitting alone at a bar and writing numbing thoughts on a napkin? ack. i am pathetic. that's no surprise. and my thoughts just keep coming. and i don't. there is such beautiful comraderie in the olympic games--silver congratulates the gold with a hug; bronze does the same to the silver. but you better give that medal back, due to miscalculations. i should go. i remember the time i drank a "real" mixed drink. bulldog at the bowling alley with...what was his name? i can see his face. his brother came in with a tattoo on his ass. i got up to pay my tab...no, he did not pay for me. i guess telling me the "blackened chicken sandwich was good" was enough...and tried not to stumble, but it was all so new that i couldn't help by grab onto a chair for balance. and i tried to mask the scent when i got home and kissed my parents goodnight. i'm drinking water now. be proud of me. "you know that's how harry potter was born?" i don't think this napkin will make anything, though. who would want to read my thoughts? why are you reading this? what could you possibly gain from reading this? absolutely nothing. and so, i must really go. call it a day...