Sometimes I listen to John Cougar Mellencamp (yeah, I left Cougar in) sing about small towns, and I get a hankering for drive-in burger joints. No, not like a Sonic. A real old one like you see in the movies where I can take my girlfriend and run into random people we know. They’ll tell us about some party out in an orchard and when we get there there’ll be a large bonfire where I can just back up my truck and sit on the tailgate. And when I need to piss, I’ll just whip it out and the girls will hoot and holler because I’m packing some heat. My girlfriend will get all jealous and talk about how I’m just showing off and I’ll just say, “Hey, Diane, let’s run off behind a shady tree, dribble off those Bobbie Brooks, let me do as I please.” And she’ll slap me because her name’s Cindy and her hot little sister is Diane.
So the other night, Chris and I are sitting on the porch drinking Coors Light and eating some deer jerky. He’s talking about how blond Diane was giving BJs again for drinks in the bathroom at Mulligans. I’m not really paying attention because I’m pissed off the Dodgers and Lakers lost on the same day and we’re down to a half dozen beers in the cooler and I only got like 5 cigarettes left. And guess what happens, this fucking black cat jumps up on the railing and walks it all around the porch and hops off like it’s nobody’s business. Needless to say, Chris freaked out and took off. You know how he hates cats, especially them black ones. I didn’t care. Chris had been bumming smokes off me, so hey, more for me, right?