I complain that I never go out anymore so I go out - I go out into the horrible pelting snow wearing something stupid and end up at this joint in the middle of Brooklyn's bunghole with a bunch of hipsters with punchable faces quaffing bourbon because that's what they're supposed to be drinking now and some dude on a purple inflatable couch gives me a vegan cookie because he says he wants to make friends but seems strangely paranoid when I ask him questions so I laugh and drink a Dark and Stormy with my bro whose eyes glaze over when a cute girl with dimples drones on about her band so we leave and venture out into the horrible pelting snow and I wait for an hour but the train never comes and decide to risk life and limb with a gypsy cab hoping against hope that I won't end up chopped up into a million pieces by the side of the road and along the way a drunk girl opens the car door and attempts to get in and the Egyptian cab driver mutters "sharmoota" which means whore and the whole ride home I wonder if Fauxhawk will make me biscuits if I ask him to and then I do and the most wonderful biscuits appear at two in the morning and we eat them greedily because hot biscuits are perfection when you've just been out but would really rather be home.
P.S. I am now officially old.
