I know what is to be expected; chapped lips, ringing ears, the day after taste of a dirty sponge. I am wrong. What a fantastic morning. It's 11 am and birds are singing. This is the longest I have slept since I worked the graveyard shift as a smut peddler (maybe not, but this is the last time I can remember). Thank you oh mighty beard. After being defeated by my father in a less than impressive display of golf, I decide to continue my losing streak with bowling. I'm lucky to break 100. Father's beard trumps son's. Home again! Home again! Rin tin tin! I'm fucking exhausted. Yesterday is catching up. I make stuffed chicken breasts (filled with bleu cheese, avocado, tomatoes, and caramalized peppers and onions). Mmmmmmm...tasty. Papa Hoppins finishes his and retires taking the winning beard with him. Alone, I watch "Claire's Knee". The movie, I don't know anyone named Claire. Body sinks into sofa. I'm out. Subtitles at night make me sleepy.
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