It wasn't long after smoking that joint outside that it dawned on me. Just minutes earlier I had with rolled it with extreme confidence on the toilet paper dispenser in the men's room, never visibly showing the signs of someone who had been drinking since 6pm. I turned to my com padre and announced quite astutely: "We are by far the most fucked people here."
He agreed, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. I advised him my mind was still functioning like some hyper kinetic tape recorder and that the events of the evening would be relayed back to him. He had a penchant for loosing large chunks of memory while in my company and I planned on reminding him what had gone on as I had often done previous. He was nervous how he would hold up, slumping slightly at our table. But like any good poppa bear, I mentioned something about being zen and fetched more drink.
I had long yearned for someone with the moxie to drink with me out here. Someone I knew would be there right up to last call and all points after. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of cool cats around, but I can just be a tough bird to fly with sometimes. Most of our crowd had already gone, and our once sizable entourage had shrunk considerably.
But this was times for goodbyes. I felt like a guy who had just got his apartment the way he wanted, only to have it burn to the ground. I'll miss a lot of things about Alberta; Ginger beef, late night booze stores, and a good barber among them. But a good drinking buddy is up on the list. I'll suppose I'll survive, lord knows I have more than my share of those back home.
The night passed without further incident, me and my Shell peeps proverbially drank the bar dry. There was some dancing, laughing and good times had. At one point my friend Stephane looked at me as we were tearing up he dance floor. "This is how I'll remember you!" He yelled over the music.
I guess I can't ask for anything more than that.