The Night was Moist

It's one of those mornings I'm paying the price for too much of a good thing. The Lovely Carla and I stayed out late playing music and drinking wine at the Flatiron Building. I parked myself on the couch in my brother's studio, pulled out my acoustic guitar and played like a madman for a couple of hours. It was quite the experience. I caught a wave and rode it into the fog of oblivion.

So, this morning, I am frail and gentle and I step lightly, trying not to harm myself. I floated in a warm tub of water reading Nick Tosches "Unsung Heroes of Rock n' Roll," (it's quite a good read) and came across this in the chapter on Stick McGhee: "In life, one encounters very few truths of the absolute sort. The sages of Hellas enumerate but three. The first: Everything flows, nothing abides. The Second: Give them an inch, they'll take a mile. The third: All things can be reduced to moisture, whence they came."

So I ventured out to the betting parlour before our little musical excursion last night. I braved the smokey confines and laid down my money on the Kentucky Derby to be run later today. I bet on a horse called Street Sense. I'm not all that confident I have a winner (I'm not touting the horse - that's the kiss of death!) and I hedged my bets with some exacta boxes...Street Sense needs to show up either first or second for me to cash a ticket. And well, sometimes I wonder why I do the things I do...but well, that's what we call a life, right? And I think it's true all things can be reduced to moisture and well, you got a problem with that?