Decorum

Was out drinking last night. Catching up with an old mate who is forty-six. 

But I think I should just stay in from now on though. The whole going out business isn't working out for me.

Nothing was right. I complained about everything. The choice of beer. I was forced to drink guinness which fucks up my system due to the chemicals. That creamy-foamy head is not naturally occurring, my friends. 

But now I'm even complaining about unexpected stuff:

• The stools were too uncomfortable. 
  
• The light was too dim. 
  
• The tables too tabley.

Comme d'habitude I snuck off early. I jumped into a cab and apologised for my boozy breath. My driver congratulated me on my sense of decorum and then tried to heal me with some God. I told him that I had not been blessed with faith and that I envied him. He seemed satisfied with that so we listened to some Curtis Mayfield and got healed that way instead.