Bathroom bound bumpkins bouncing off bros...in pajamas, are coming down the stairs.

Sweet shit I've consumed far too many relaxing chemicals and i need to pee so 

GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY

Was all i could think as i tried to wade my way through the well groomed obstacle coarse of human road-blocks others might call bar goers.  

I am, i have been informed, too gentile for this city.

Ha. Ha.

I just don't feel like it's necessary for someone to line-backer their way through a crowd to get places in the indoors of this city...

though i do like the image of Hiring a line-backer and latching onto his back like some kind of mustachio'd lemur (isn't there some kind of simian who's mustache is so mighty it's revered as an Emperor?) to ride to my destination.

I need to become a bro-bender; subtly brushing aside the otherwise immovable mass of blood-hungry poon/pecker hounds who populate the much coveted, rarely appreciated (til you’re a resident of a city where such a thing as

                                                            ELBOW ROOM

 Well…dance floor

only exists in myth and fable)

Anyhow, that particularly harrowing bladder-venture was only a snapshot of an otherwise delightful evening out with my Dan-ppleganger. 

His name is of no importance (Hi, Brett), all you need know is that he is my auxiliary-double and shall be brought in only as a replacement in the event of my untimely death or dismemberment.

I’ve started collected books.

This is not a ‘beginning’ so much as a ‘picking up where we left off’ with a rather bibliophilic impulse to collect and rarely read the interesting and available.

I have a bookshelf of nerdy, well bound ambitions to prove it.

But that’s back in West Virginia.

So the cycle begins again; see book, covet book, purchase (or, in this case, and more to the eventual point, abscond with off the street) book, and then take book home to collect dust and guilty sidelong glances from my couch, where I am ever more invested in my love affair with X-Box and Internet hilarity.

BUT NOT N’MORE

I have a goal.

Or maybe a mission.

Perhaps a quest.

Quixotic though it may be, I’ve never been one to pass up a lively tilt with any kind of well-trod metaphor, so windmills and book reviews it is!

I am going to continue to pick up books on the street, and then I’m going to read them-

BEAR WITH ME-

And then, I’m going to write about them here.

I am not a literary scholar, as much as I wish I were, and I’m far from any kind of authority on the qualities that define a book as ‘worthwhile’ or ‘good’ or even ‘better than campfire kindling’ but I think this might be fun.

I’ll take a picture of where I got the book(with a fun note on the location, he said brazenly), be it table vendor, a deliberately laid out box on the side of the street, or the top of someone’s trash bin.

I’ll then read the damn thing.

And then I’ll talk about it.

On the Internet. 

To be mercilessly judged by all those with the credentials to do so.

And maybe I’ll make people laugh, too.

So, I need to get back to reading; I’ve got a small collection going already and a big ol’batch of the Bacchae to cram into my brainpan.

Wish me luck, and thanks for reading.