Night VI.

In a moment of stupidity, the deux decided to start our nocturnal adventures early. Yes, early. Why? Because homelessness is like a drug. You become Dazed and Confused and of course, lose all motor function.

After a double 8 pump pumpkin spice latte fix (commonly known as pump-crack), we made our way to Square 1. At eleven, yes, eleven.

Now this Downtown Jacksonville highlight of our week... bombed?
Did we dance, yes. Did we sing, yes. Did we mingle, yes. Was it at all entertaining or worth the five dollar cover, no.
Has the "homeless drug" killed the edge off one of our favorite nights of the week?

God (yes, we said god) we hope not.

But onto our lovely analysis of the evening.

First: We found a landlord. She shall remain named since she is now ALLAH. Christina we would like to cleanse your feet, for that is what we believe religious folk do.

Second: Snaps. 'Nuff said.

Third: Beanie Boy came. Beanie Boy saw. Beanie Boy tried to conquer. Beanie Boy failed.

Fourth: Finally, Sex Pistol sighting! Golly gee did he not disappoint. But in his lonely arrival and leaving, is there trouble on the BFF front?

Fifth: Lovely, mature conversation with Daddy-O (Yes, a mature conversation at this place. They do exist.).

Sixth: Realization time. The deux acknowledges that hair is meant to run free.

Seventh: Our Beloved DJ, sadly, is becoming repetitive. Playing Freebird would solve all.

Eighth: Leather jackets should contain Silly Putty.

Ninth: Deadheads like em' "blonde". (?)

Tenth: NEWCOMER. Tattooed rude dude. We approve/like.

(Mission: Who requested Ca plane por moi for Christine.)

first of all, it's tattoo-ed on Nadine's back. second, why?

The deux believes that this slightly mauvais night was all a symptom of this "hobo crack" we've been absorbing through our pores. Maybe our standards have been hightened by the prior evenings. But tonight, our expectations were not met. Work on it people.

We ended our night at the gracious Jordan's.

in a dog bed. to be woken up by a bear.

it was .... awesome.

A Tout A L'Heure.

Post Script. As mentioned before, the deux shall return the Saturday after XXX-mas.

Post Post Script. Square One folk, appreciate what contains your liquor. Glasses are friends, not floor food.