So this one time I was down at the Heather, and, in fact, I’ve been there more than just the one time; I’m there all the damn time, in fact, I was there today, only this one time? That was not this time. It was a completely different time. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

What? I only had two drinks!

So this time, I was down at the Heather and so were quite a number of other people, it being, I think, a Friday, and don’t we all need a good, stiff drink of a Friday? Indeed we do, and particularly myself. And one of these other people, a loquacious and somewhat recovering-fratboy-type fellow of a certain girth and a certain volume, was telling another, a much more discreet and forgettable straight man type in a hat, that he loved living on the Downtown EastSide, and why? Why, because he could take pictures of the junkies tweaking in the alley and post them to his blog.

And, as he said this, I wrote it down.

Cuz that’s how I roll, yo.

And, as I wrote it down, the manageress discreetly elbowed said frat-alum and pointed in my direction for, lo, she knows my evil, gossip-recording shenanigans from way back, and is generally the sharpest knife in the drawer to boot.

And fratboy, looking straight at me, said, “OH! Well I guess I better be careful! Big Brother is watching!”

And I said, still writing and without looking up, “Yes, but at least he’s not taking pictures and uploading them to his blog.”

Which got, it must be said, a fair round of applause, if no free drinks.

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