Swing life away

A Thursday spent listlessly. Computer games, reading, computer games, reading, food, annoy roommate, repeat. And on and on and on. Another day wasted.
Until that selfsame roommate bursts into the room - "So, you busy tonight? Good - how do you feel about biking down to the Derby for some drinks...that's as far as I've gotten with the plan."
Of course, I'm in.

8:30 rolls around. Shirts, shoes, IDs - check.
5-10 minute bike down to the local dive.

"Two Leinenkugel Octoberfests. Tall."
"Here's to living the dream."

MMA on the big screen. Chunky dude with the polish last name vs. the cut 'merican looking guy.
"You been to Poland, what are the people like?"
"Every woman is beautiful, every man is a kind of nerdy and fugly."
A Maker's and a (tall) Sam Adam's Boston Lager.

Talk shit about our other housemate. The one that just can't get it together and man up. Who spends the rent on throwing knives in order to be "tactically sound"? And sure, I drink, but you don't see me slamming 40$ bottles of Belvedere. 10$ Sobieski for me - in addition to fine women Poland produces fine vodka.

Get a text. From the guy right next to me. That sly motherfucker.
"Fucking S______"
"I hear that. What's the frequency?"
"Fucking S_____"

Last call for us. Shot of Old Granddad. Better than the Maker's, which is too thin on the front end, but not nearly as good as its relative the 114. Old Granddad 114 will always be my sipping whiskey. Regardless, it is still good whiskey.
An argument between the bartendress and the kids next to us catches our ears.
"If you throw up, you do it outside, not in here, not in the bathroom - outside."
"Don't worry about us, we are old drinking veterans."
Boy, you don't look a day over 15. If you are are drinking veteran, then I am goddamn Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.!

Time to go. Unlock the bikes. Thank god they weren't stolen.
The night is perfect. Not too humid, the wind on my face, the pavement underneath. Not a sole on the street.

Bike past the local liquor shop.
"Hey Kev, watch the bikes. I gotta get me something."
"You know I got your back, brother."

"Pint a 5'oclock vodka."
"$4.44."

Glare of the neon signs of the Fish 'n Chips store and the pizzeria.
"Hey Kev...you hungry?"
"Up to you, man."

"Hot ham 'n cheese sub and an order of cheese sticks."
Holy god, that was the best meal I've ever had.


And then, after a night of hanging loose, talking shit, and being young, it turns, as it inevitably does, to something more important. Suddenly, it isn't two best friends at a bar drinking huge pints of beer reliving old stories of the glory days and crazy shit that happened in the past. Suddenly, it is two best friends walking along a deserted train track in the dark of night, each with a flask in hand, each being open.

Nothing is more beautiful than that. Two friends walking along an infinite road in the dead of night, opening up about who they really are. Their feet are going to kill in the morning (walking along train track rocks in paper thin sole-d shoes is the worst idea, in hindsight), but that doesn't matter.

For a moment, everything is perfect and put in perspective. For a second, you aren't the only one struggling through life with no direction. For a second, the myriad of choices you have are laid out before you, and any one of them is viable. For a moment, you are infinite.

It ends, at it always must.
But you go down into your room, after hugging your friend, and you sit down at your computer and think about the perfect song to sum up your night (your life).

For me, I define this sort of night with one song
"Swing Life Away" by Rise Against.

What about you?