I'm waiting for paint to dry. Watching paint dry isn't so bad. I'm enjoying it. I finally polished off this weird bottle of scotch I've had in my arsenal for some time. It was a hand me down. It was called Beam. Not Jim Beam, just "Beam," and it had a stamp like label with a small crew of red headed ducks flying across the sky. Every time Eric came over I'd poor him a small glass of Beam and we'd sit on the the edge of my bar, ("Drinksy?" that's the name of my bar. With a "?". Eric named it, It has another name, "Porkchop's Pants") we'd sit on the edge of my bar and smirk at the Beam in hand. "What are you Beam? " I'd wonder. Are you something Jim Beam released back '70's in an attempt to class yourself up? Are you Canadian? Probably, you seem kind of full of yourself, and you're not all that. One think is for sure, you're as free as those ducks that brand your face and you're all gone. Thanks for the memories.
I'm going to fill the empty Beam bottle with Jim Beam and keep the dream alive. After you figure out Santa isn't real you have to keep your own dreams alive. Did you know that? Finding out about Santa is actually the real defining journey into adulthood. You should be able to vote when you know that Santa isn't real. I'm going to put a second coat of paint on now. Good night.
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