Our dirty god, our dirty Bah-deeeeeezz

Doing bad things. Not doing bad things.

Acknowledging inevitable departure of Johann Santana. Remembering the 3-2-3 double play (Hrbek to Harper to Hrbek) that shines on.

Chewing a hole in my gums. Selling books I purchased for stupid education classes and buying motorcycle with the money.

Kurt Hinrich dropping knowledge on his own inadequacy. Chris Webber not playing basketball forever.

Roger Clemens not being just another dad with big veins in his neck yelling at his progeny. Long-haired Indian harmonica guy who you step over to get into the post office respecting my steez.

Making those phone calls to those companies whose employees you can’t help but yell at. Breaking the nostalgia hoe before more historical soil is turned.

Eating the supernachos because you don’t have time to go home for lunch. Killing em with a joke and launching into a silky smooth segue before they notice they’re getting meaningful things done.

Asking her about her weekend and learning that multiple funerals were involved. Laughing out loud when the metal kid said that you can recognize emo boys b/c they wear their younger sisters’ jeans.