When you’re heading home at ten o’clock, and
In the middle of the goddamn street, just a few blocks from
yer walk-up
you find a twenty-dollar bill
folded in neat quarters,
not like you’d put in a wallet, but almost
like you’d do to hide in a
silver locket or a grandchild’s birthday card
Shit, you turn your bicycle around, even if
it is two miles back to the nearest bar
and you start pedaling, but you stop
at the Shell and drop a quarter in and
you call Steve and Woody and say
the next one’s on me,
because come on, we’re a very heavy load,
but we’re finally here, and
you owe them a hell of a lot more than
two pitchers of beer, and shouldn’t it be
something like that.
(DEDICATED TO STARKVILLE 1999-2000)
haw…awesome…I tried to capture that summer in a short story but failed miserabley…this is GREAT…I think even now we would reserve the same earnest excitement for the ever elusive 20 dollar treasure…beer philanthropy just feels right…...remember when Jones wobbled about at the tavern pouring drinks from his giant pitcher…I remember irrationally thinking that was one of the kindest gestures ever…lordy