Tour

Hamm's beer and trying to transverse across the walk-bridge that night to my home on the island, and kept falling half-way over the railing. I shimmied and climbed onto the porch roof, and went into my room by the window, maybe two AM. The beer drinking became a regular Saturday night thing for several years. I think my favorite thing about it was standing in toilets peeing, and talking to myself maybe a mirror even, I don't give a F**k - over and over. I then I-didn't. What a great feeling, because all my sober-time apparently I-did, which was the problem what.

It was a little park somewhere near my hotel, not very big, rectangular, dirt, kids structured play accoutrements here and there, with kids and mothers on the benches, and me smoking cigarettes and drinking wine. I had not seen actually, that many winos in parks. I would buy a bottle of wine, sit on a bench and sip and suck; talk to myself out-loud. That was the thing, what it was all about. It was the only legitimate way, out-loud-talk; except for looney tune. Take your choice drunk or looney tune, sometimes called the Village Idiot. I didn't know how to play looney; so I had no choice. Talk to drink and drink to talk. Be emphatic. Wave my arms around. Nobody seemed bothered. Nobody said anything, but probably strange looks. What are you doing there?

The woman at the corner market where I bought the wine, her in her sixties, still good looking, took a lovely to me, and we were flirting. I told her stories, and I had many already even at my young age there, and it was the first time for me.

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