mild margheritas. mr. pink. but no tony clifton.

a late night slice at two boots.

devouring our respective slices. hoping that they - in turn - would devour our alcohol.

and suddenly lisa stops. interrupts. looks straight at me. and proclaims:

i know what dessert you'd be... you would be a root beer float.

it's just a shame. that's all.

i'm looking for a partner.

he's looking for himself.

rising up. back on the street.

one of those mornings. if it could go wrong. it did.

knowing that you are walking into the lion's den. again.

on the train.

but in your mind . . . the guitar riffs. and you're throwing a hard right. and then a left. bobbing. weaving. wiping the sweat from your brow. ready to rise up to the challenge of your rival.

and, with that, something changes. it tilts everything sideways.

and you don't just survive. you prevail.