I'm on the night owl home. Its safe to pass out. Theres like a hundred minutes before I'm anywhere near home. Thats the downside to living in a city where all transportation after 2 am is funneled through a single bus from 2nd to 69th. The upside is, you can be assured only those with a passionate desire to explore the night will be around at this hour.
Or - those who are addicted to over-the-counter stimulants. I fall asleep, and the night plays itself out in dream form.
Direct TV. Screw those guys.
The night was supposed to begin with some payperview UFC with some friends [these guys], but alas they are denied for no good reason. I come up with a great idea for retribution. Its brilliant, but I can't get anyones attention. I start the sentence but I can't finish it, each time getting about 4 words in before I get interrupted by intervening conversations. I hate that. So here it is, unspoken, unacted:
Call up Direct TV, wait on hold for 45 minutes, then yell “PENIS” and hang up. Its a masterful plan. Yeah, you can call me "Verbal".
Apparently you're not allowed to loiter in the hallway. I know this because a transit person tells me. She points apathetically in my direction.
“You have to move either into the bathroom or over to the bar.”
I step over a few steps to what could reasonably be considered the bathroom and resume typing a text message. This is not good enough, and I am forced to humor her arbitrary power play by sliding 2 and a half more steps over. Never put humans in positions of authority. They are too ridiculous to have that kind of responsibility.